^j^Jiwt^ 


ti- 


i 


THE  FREEBURGERS, 


^  ilontt 


BY 


DENTON   J.  SNIDER. 


ST.   LOUIS: 

The  Sigma  Publishing  Co. 

210  Pine  Street. 

1890. 


Co]>!iright  by  1).  J.   Snider. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/freeburgers01snid 


CONTENTS. 


Chaptek  I. 
CONSCIENCE  OR  THE  CONSTITUTION  ? 


CHAPTEK  II. 
I'NDKll   THE   TALL   APPLE   TREE. 


CHAI'TEU  in. 
AROUND   HENRY   FIRESTONE. 


Chapter  IV. 
IN   THE    HOUSE   OF  THE  FIRE8TONES. 


Chapter  V. 
FROM  THE   LIFE  OF  THE  OLD   SINGER. 


Chapter  VI. 
LEAVES   (JF   HOPE   WINSLOW'S   HISTORY. 


Chapter  VII. 
ON   ANCESTRAL  LINES. 


Chapter  VIII. 
THE  AFRICAN   IN   FREEBURG. 


Chapter  IX. 
THE  CELEBRATION. 


Chapter  X. 
THE   END   WHICH    IS  THE    BEGINNING. 


JuatZ. 
^10 


(lil) 


THE   FREEBURGERS. 


CHAPTER    FIRST. 

CONSCIENCE  OR  THE  CONSTITUTION'^ 

I. 

Two  men  were  passing  along  a  road  somewhat  dusty 
which  wound  through  a  well-cultivated  country  to- 
ward a  pretty  village  situated  upon  a  small  stream  of 
water.  One  of  the  men  rode  on  horseback,  and  was 
genteelly  dressed  in  the  old  fashion  ;  a  pair  of  venerable 
saddle-bags  well  distended  lay  in  an  easy  balance  be- 
hind him,  and  had  a  look  of  great  comfort.  The 
other  man  went  afoot ;  he  had  a  rather  lean  knapsack, 
which  he,  like  a  true  soldier,  carried  himself,  slung 
across  his  back ;  he  wore  home-spun  garments  and 
heavy  shoes,  on  which  was  gathered  the  dust  of  the 
day's  journey ;  it  was  observed  that  thick-set  hob- 
nails left  little  pits  on  the  face  of  mother  earth  where- 
ever  he  put  down  his  foot.  The  horseman  had  a  set- 
tled appearance — the  look  of  a  man  who  is  fixed  to 
one  spot  for  life,  with  a  tether  of  a  few  miles,  having 


2  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

the  same  objects,  the  same  customs,  and  the  same 
faces  always  around  him,  to  which  he  is  not  only 
attached,  but  with  which  he  becomes  ingrown.  The 
pedestrian,  on  the  contrary,  seemed  a  wanderer,  with- 
out any  very  permanent  habitation  ;  from  every  feature 
and  from  every  action  came  a  voice  which  proclaimed 
him  a  man  Independent  of  his  surroundings.  He  set 
his  foot  upon  the  ground  with  a  will,  though  he  ap- 
peared quite  indifferent  to  just  that  piece  of  ground, 
inasmuch  as  he  at  once  prepared  to  take  another  step 
and  quietly  leave  it  behind. 

The  two  men  had  come  together  in  a  casual  manner 
upon  the  road,  and  had  started  a  conversation  which 
had  evidently  set  both  to  thinking.  They  now  moved 
along  in  silence  with  eyes  bent  down  a  little  in  advance 
of  their  feet,  as  if  trying  to  forecast  what  came 
next.  After  a  good  while  the  mounted  gentleman 
welded  the  broken  talk  with  a  sigh,  which  slowly  spent 
itself  in  the  following  words :  — 

"It  is  bad  statesmanship  to  raise  such  a  ques- 
tion in  the  minds  of  the  people." 

The  pedestrian  never  turned  his  glance  aside,  but 
looked  straight  ahead  and  answered  :  — 

"So it  is,  perhaps.  But  have  3'ou  never  observed 
that  just  at  the  time  when  bad  statesmanship  does  its 
worst,  a  new  order  of  things  begins  to  break  forth, 
and  becomes  visible  to  the  eye  that  can  see  through  to 
the  soul  of  circumstances?^* 

The  two  men,  who  were  entire  strangers  to  each 
other,  dropped  back  into  their  former  silence.  Tlie 
little  dialogue  had  not  made  them  better  acquainted ; 
in  fact,  it  had  driven  them  wider  apart.     They  passed 


CONSCIENCE    OR   THE    CONSTITUTION?  3 

through  an  extensive  plain,  sun-lit  and  shadow-flecked  ; 
on  both  sides  of  the  road  the  waves  of  grain  rippled 
far  and  wide  in  the  breeze.  Then  they  came  to  a 
hill,  which  they  had  to  ascend,  somewhat  steep  and 
stony.  This  common  difficulty  of  the  way  seemed 
to  bring  their  spirits  together,  and  charm  them  to 
a  mutual  utterance.  The  horseman  was  again  the 
first  to  break  the  silence  of  the  journey  in  a  bode- 
ful exclamation :  — 

**  It  is  a  great  mistake  in  those  who  govern  us.'* 

The  pedestrian  also  loosed  the  bonds  which  seemed 
to  hold  his  tongue  captive,  and  made  a  reply,  speaking 
more  slowly  but  more  firmly  than  before :  — 

**  Yes,  so  it  is,  perhaps.  But  in  this  world  there 
is  some  function  in  mistake ;  I  call  it  the  ministry 
of  error.  When  I  see  man  perversely  blind  or 
stupidly  asleep,  I  know  the  power  beyond  man  is 
vigorousl}^  awake  and  at  work;  the  weakness  of  the 
human  is  the  seal,  moulded  and  inscribed,  of  the 
superhuman  ;  the  mistakes  of  our  rulers  will  show,  to 
the  person  who  can  read  the  inscription,  what  the 
universal  ruler  has  ordained  and  written  on  those 
monuments  of  granite  called  events.'* 

This  new  utterance  did  not  bring  the  two  wayfarers 
nearer  together  ;  traveling  alongside  of  each  other,  they 
stood  in  spirit  transcendently  asunder.  The  horse- 
man made  no  reply,  but  looked  more  intently  than  was 
usual  with  him,  at  the  road  on  which  they  were  going 
and  which  had  led  into  a  dark  shady  wood  that  quite 
shut  out  the  light  of  the  sun.  The  change  was  not 
disagreeable,  though  the  horse  stumbled  a  good  deal 
against  the  outcropping  roots  of  the   trees  that  ran 


4  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

across  the  highway,  often  in  great  hunches.  The 
pedestrian,  however,  was  more  sure-footed,  and  went 
the  same  way  without  difficulty.  He  now  and  then 
took  occasion  to  warn  his  companion  of  some  approach- 
ing danger  which  could  not  easily  be  seen  in  that  syl- 
van twilight  made  of  sunbeams  finely  sifted  through 
dense  foliage.  For  the  most  part,  however,  he  let  the 
horseman  find  his  own  way  in  silence  through  the  um- 
brageous covert,  till,  at  last,  both  emerged  into  the 
open  country,  where  the  sun  struck  them  with  new 
splendor,  but  also  with  new  discomfort.  Still  both 
remained  together,  and  showed  a  profound  respect  for 
each  other's  taciturnity. 

The  man  on  horseback  had  not  yet  relieved  his  mind 
sufficiently  by  speech ;  he  had  on  his  heart  a  matter 
which  he  felt  compelled  to  hint  more  distinctly  than  he 
had  hitherto  done,  though  he  still  chose  to  speak  of  it 
indirectly.  Shaking  off  a  little  dust  from  the  lapel 
of  his  coat  he  began  once  more :  — 

"  There  ought  to  be  better  men  in  office  and  more 
care  taken  in  selecting  them." 

The  pedestrian,  with  a  slight  contortion  of  the  lip, 
gave  a  quick,  keen  shot  of  the  eye  at  the  man,  as  if 
wondering  what  office  he  wanted,  then  turned  away 
from  him  and  looked  straight  forward,  saying:  — 

"What  3^ou  state  has  its  truth;  it  is  often  well, 
though  perhaps  not  always,  to  turn  one  man  out  of 
power  for  the  sake  of  putting  in  a  better.  But  it 
makes  little  difference  in  the  end ;  take  what  road  we 
may,  we  shall  come  out  at  last  in  the  same  place.  In- 
deed we  shall  travel  the  same  highway,  whoever  may 
be  in  advance  stirring  up  the  first  dust." 


CONSCIENCE    OR    THE    CONSTITUTION?  5 

The  horseman  showed,  by  an  impatient  twitch,  that 
he  had  been  slightly  hit  in  a  secret  part  by  the  answer 
of  the  stranger,  who,  however,  was  wholly  unconscious 
of  any  purpose.  He  caught  up  the  relaxed  bridle  of 
his  horse,  and  viewed  his  companion  with  increasing 
interest.  At  the  end  of  a  rather  long  stare  he  asked : — 

"  Are  you  going  to  Freeburg?" 

''  That  place,  I  believe,  chances  to  be  the  next  point 
in  my  journey." 

"  Are  you  traveling  thither  on  business?  " 

"Not  exactly.  The  truth  is,  I  have  just  happened 
along,  without  design." 

"  But  have  you  no  destination  in  your  travels?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  destination.  But  I  can  go  in  any 
direction  and  be  sure  of  reaching  it." 

The  horseman  for  a  few  moments  puzzled  over  this 
answer  of  the  strange  man,  but  broke  off  his  medita- 
tions with  another  personal  question :  — 

**  Will  you  stay  long  with  us?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  what  I  find  when  I  get  there." 

"  You  will  not  find  a  great  deal,  it  is  a  small  place." 

"  That  makes  little  difference.  A  small  place  maj^ 
contain  much,  nay  all.  I  can  only  say  at  present  that 
I  am  in  no  hurry ;  I  have  been  given  the  same  amount 
of  time  that  every  other  son  of  Adam  has,  which,  when 
I  count  it  up,  is  just  all  time.  So,  what  is  the  good 
of  haste?  Still,  I  cannot  let  the  hours  go  by  empty- 
handed." 

After  this  conversation,  it  may  be  stated  that  those 
two  souls,  represented  by  the  horseman  and  the  pedes- 
trian respectively,  had  not  been  brought  more  closely 
together  than  they  were  before.     There  was  a  chasm 


6  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

between  them  which  neither  could  pass,  though  they 
stood  on  opposite  edges  of  it  and  talked  across  to 
each  other  in  tones  audible,  if  not  intelligible.  They 
lived  and  moved  in  two  different  worlds,  while  going 
side  by  side  along  that  dusty  highway  of  earth 
toward  a  little  village.  Somewhere  in  the  universe, 
doubtless,  there  is  a  spiritual  flux  which,  with  due 
application  of  heat  or  some  other  power,  would  melt 
their  hard  limits  and  make  them  flow  together  in  one 
common  and  perchance  harmonious  stream.  But  they 
have  not  found  it  to-day,  and  now  the  attention  of 
both  is  drawn  away  from  their  thoughts  to  a  fair 
outer  appearance,  which  flashes  radiantly  upon  their 
sense  of  vision,  and  at  last  unites  them  in  a  common 
joy. 

II. 

The  village  of  Freeburg  has  suddenly  slipped  into 
the  horizon,  with  houses  dimly  hiding  behind  trees, 
while  right  and  left  are  the  distant  hillsides,  pieced 
out  like  a  great  quilt,  with  irregular  patches  of  forest, 
meadow  and  grain-field  that  roll  down  in  many  a  fold 
to  the  little  valley  through  which  is  gurgling  a  small, 
pellucid  stream.  Over  this  stream  the  two  wayfarers 
have  to  pass;  each  has  stopped  a  moment  on  the 
brink  to  look  at  the  merry  flow  of  the  changeful  ele- 
ment on  its  way  to  the  great,  all-receiving  ocean. 
The  horseman  loosens  the  bridle,  and  lets  his  delighted 
animal  take  its  cooling  drink,  and  then  sport  and 
splash  and  stamp  around  in  the  shallow  current,  till  it 
be  time  to  rein  up  stilfly  and  enter  the  village  with  be- 
coming dignity.     Meanwhile  the  pedestrian  has  risen 


CONSCIENCE    OR    THE    CONSTITUTION?  7 

from  the  mossy  brink,  where  he  took  a  seat  on  a  rock 
and  paddled  with  his  hand  in  the  refreshing  waters ; 
as  there  is  no  bridge  he  springs  from  stone  to  stone 
easily,  till  he  reaches  the  opposite  side,  losing  no 
thought  from  his  head,  and  no  dust  from  his  shoes  in 
the  passage. 

The  two  men  soon  entered  the  village,  one  a  short 
distance  behind  the  other,  and  with  the  inevitable 
necessity  of  a  straight  line,  were  brought  at  once  to 
the  Public  Square.  They  found  a  crowd  of  people 
there  assembled  around  a  platform  slightly  raised, 
upon  which  stood  a  young  man  addressing  the  multi- 
tude in  a  strain  of  hot  eloquence  fanned  to  flames  by 
many  rapid  but  irregular  gestures.  He  was  about  to 
conclude  his  speech,  but  the  two  men  had  arrived  in 
time  to  catch  the  following  words  of  his  peroration : 
"As  for  me,  I  shall  obey  conscience;  it  is  my  final 
authority.  There  is  a  higher  statute  than  the  written 
one,  and  to  its  behest  I  am  bound.  It  is  the  law  of 
humanity  which  forbids  me  to  return  my  fellow-man, 
seeking  the  freedom  which  I  enjoy,  to  bondage.  I 
shall  not  do  it  myself,  I  shall  not  aid  others  in  doing 
it,  whatever  be  man's  law  to  the  contrary." 

At  these  words  the  greater  part  of  the  audience 
cheered  loudly  and  clapped  their  hands ;  the  young 
man,  beaming  with  smiles  of  conscious  success,  de- 
scended from  tlie  platform  and  was  showered  with 
congratulations.  Soon  a  single  voice  in  the  crowd 
was  heard  calling  out:  "  Let  us  now  hear  from  Judge 
James  All  worthy."  Whereupon  a  few  scattering 
voices  shouted:  "  Allworthy !  Allworthy  to  the  plat- 
form."    As  there  seemed  to  be  no  opposition,  a  neat, 


8  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

trim -clad  gentleman  came  forward  and  mounted  the 
speaker's  stand  ;  he  was  treated  with  universal  respect 
and  universal  silence. 

Our  pedestrian,  still  dusty,  but  flashing  keen,  sword- 
like glances  into  the  assembly,  observed  that  it  was 
his  companion,  who  had  been  riding  on  horseback  at 
his  side  during  the  early  part  of  the  day. 

The  Judge,  for  by  this  title  we  shall  now  know  him, 
surveyed  the  audience  with  a  dignified  look  and  then 
began :  — 

"  I  shall  not  say  much,  as  I  feel  I  have  but  a  very 
slender  right  to  speak  at  this  meeting.  But  I  wish  to 
declare  that  I,  too,  am  a  man  of  conscience,  and  I 
think  its  behests  ought  in  general  to  be  followed. 
Still,  I  am  also  a  man  of  law,  and  the  law  must  be 
obeyed.  I  confess,  however,  I  do  not  like  to  see  the 
question  put  in  this  way ;  indeed,  I  do  not  like  to  see 
the  people  stirred  up  to  ask  such  a  question,  and 
thereby  driven  to  make  a  choice  between  their  con- 
science and  their  country.  Accursed  be  the  public 
man  who  seeks  to  rouse  and  foster  such  a  conflict. 
I  say,  let  him  be  thrice  accursed." 

Thus  spake  the  good  and  mild  Judge  Allworthy, 
ending  in  a  warm  imprecation  which  astonished  friend 
and  foe.  The  applause  was  not  great ;  the  crowd  was 
evidently  attuned  to  another  key-note.  It  was  clear 
that  he  had  aimed  a  heavy  blow  at  the  young  man  who 
had  just  preceded  him,  and  whom  he  seemed  to  look 
upon  as  a  sower  of  dissension.  But  he  did  not  escape 
without  requital  for  his  two-sided  sentences.  He 
was  called  a  trimmer,  a  compromiser ;  he  was  accused 
of  trying  to  ride  two  horses  at  once.     Even  his  friends 


CONSCIENCE    OR    THE    CONSTITUTION?  9 

were  somewhat  confused  by  his  speech,  short  as  it 
was,  and  had  to  stand  on  the  defensive,  in  supporting 
him.  Hitherto  his  party  had  been  in  the  majority  and 
had  repeatedly  elected  him  Judge.  But  a  time  of 
change  was  felt  to  be  approaching;  even  the  weather 
cocks  began  to  show  the  new  breeze. 

The  village  of  Freeburg,  Ij'ing  on  a  little  hill  like  a 
water-n3'mph  along  the  rivulet  Sassaquatchie,  was 
waking  up  to  a  lively  political  campaign.  The  com- 
munity was  capable  of  being  wrought  into  a  high  state 
of  excitement,  and  of  recovering  from  it  very  rapidly 
after  an  election.  The  people  were  almost  evenly  di- 
vided upon  the  questions  of  the  hour.  In  such  a 
case,  the  contest  becomes  a  matter  of  great  interest  in 
itself,  irrespective  of  an}^  principle  at  stake,  since  men 
are  still  barbarous  enough  to  take  pleasure  in  looking 
at  a  close,  hard-fought  struggle.  But  now  there  was 
also  a  principle  involved  ;  every  man  took  his  place  in 
line  of  battle  on  one  side  or  the  other ;  the  citizen  of 
that  little  town  felt  himself  to  be  a  true  soldier  of  the 
ages,  whose  ballot  was  far  more  effective  than  the  bullet. 

Our  pedestrian  had  attracted  some  attention,  he  was 
the  sole  stranger  at  present  in  the  village,  where  every- 
body knew  everybody  and  everybody's  business. 
There  was  a  change  in  his  look  as  he  stood  on  the  outer 
rim  of  the  crowd  and  watched  its  doings.  If  he  pre- 
viously, in  his  talk  with  the  Judge,  had  a  serious  air, 
now  he  seemed  humorous  and  at  times  grotesque  in 
the  sport  of  his  features.  A  satirical  smile  twitched 
through  his  lips,  as  he  touched  his  neighbor's  elbow 
and  asked : — 

"  What  is  the  stake  these  two  men  are  playing  for?  " 


10  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

The  neighbor  stared  awhile  and  then  said:  "  I  do 
not  understand  j'ou." 

''I  see  you  are  not  a  gamester." 

*'No,  I  am  an  honest  farmer." 

**  Well,  then,  I  shall  use  your  speech.  Tell  me,  are 
not  these  speakers  trying  to  feather  their  own  nest 
from  the  public  goose  ?" 

Still  the  man  looked  blank  with  uncertainty,  but 
threw  out  at  random  the  following  piece  of  inform- 
ation, which  he  vaguely  thought  might  fit  in  some 
where :  — 

"There  is  an  office  soon  to  be  voted  for  in  this 
place  —  it  is  the  j udgeship. ' ' 

'*  And  these  are  the  candidates?" 

"Yes,  sir.     They  are  the  very  men.' 

*'  I  thought  so." 

"  Why  did  you  think  that?" 

"They  kept  hiding  their  little  bodies  behind  great 
principles  with  so  much  care." 

"  But  they  are  honest,"  affirmed  the  man. 

"  I  never  doubted  it;  they  cannot  help  what  they 
are  doing.  Something  has  a  hold  of  them  which  they 
are  not  aware  of.  Did  you  notice  that  young  man 
who  spoke?  He  uttered  a  word  so  big  that  his  little 
shape  shrunk  behind  it,  and  became  but  a  voice  for- 
ever speaking  through  time.  Yet  look  at  him !  He 
is  a  petty  popinjay  dancing  to  the  tune  of  the  wind." 

In  the  shifting  of  the  crowd,  the  one  rather  befogged 
neighbor  had  vanished  before  the  end  of  this  short 
speech,  but  another  brighter  countenance  had  taken 
his  place.  Our  pedestrian  soon  learned  that  the  pres- 
ent incumbent  of  the  office  of  judgeship  was   none 


CONSCIENCE    OR   THE    CONSTITUTION?  11 

other  than  the  dignified  gentleman  whom  he  had  met 
on  horseback  nicely  balanced  in  his  stirrups,  with 
well  filled  saddle  bags  in  happy  equilibrium,  and  whom 
he  has  just  heard  called  with  great  respect.  Judge 
Allworthy. 

He  began  to  knit  a  conversation  with  his  new  neigh- 
bor, whom  he  observed  to  be  a  man  of  significance. 

*'The  people  are  taking  great  interest  in  this  elec- 
tion," observed  the  pedestrian. 

*'  Yes,  and  it  is  well  that  they  do.'* 

*'  But  has  not  the  Judge  to  administer  the  law  as  it 
stands,  and  not  change  it  or  make  it  over?  " 

**True,  still  the  Freeburgers  deem  it  very  impor- 
tant to  know  in  advance  how  the  Judge  will  construe 
or  carry  out  a  certain  enactment,  in  which  they  some- 
how conceive  their  very  souls  to  be  bound  up  and  im- 
prisoned." 

Our  pedestrian  had  quite  resumed  his  reflective 
mood,  and  he  added  to  the  words  of  his  neighbor  the 
following  remarks :  — 

'*  After  all  is  done  the  Law  finds  no  expression  so 
final  that  one  judge  may  not  think  it  means  one 
thing  in  extreme  cases,  and  another  judge  another 
thing.  In  its  very  inflexibility  the  Law  gets  to  be 
flexible,  and,  in  spite  of  the  legislative  power,  the 
judicial  comes  at  last  to  be  the  lawgiver.  But  we 
must  not  overlook  the  real  kernel  that  lies  wrapped  in 
this  outer  husk  of  appearance ;  there  is  something 
mightier  than  Law,  which  is  seizing  hold  of  Law  with 
a  giant's  grasp,  is  masking  in  Law  with  many  a  grimace 
and  contortion,  and  is  using  it  as  an  instrument  to 
bring  forth  its  own  far  deeper,  at  present  invisible, 


12  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

purpose.  Who  will  tear  me  off  the  mask  and  show  the 
grand  coming  reality?  " 

The  pedestrian  looked  up,  the  second  neighbor  also 
had  disappeared.  But  he  had  called  forth  himself 
some  where  from  the  depths  of  his  being,  he  stood  in 
his  own  majestic  presence,  which  he  now  seemed  to 
address :  — 

"Behold  the  wrestle  of  the  Titans:  man  with  the 
ceaseless,  weary  toil  of  ages  builds  for  himself  the 
temple  of  the  Law,  that  he  may  have  at  last  a  home  for 
his  Goddess  Liberty ;  then  turning  about  in  heroic  dis- 
content, and  laboring  with  yet  greater  toil,  even  sweat- 
ing drops  of  blood,  he  tears  down  the  temple  of  the 
Law  in  order  that  the  same  Goddess,  Liberty,  may  go 
free.  What  a  prodigious  expense  of  power !  What 
an  oceanic  turmoil  of  spirit !  What  a  grinding  and 
rasping  of  human  souls,  growing  harder  and  harder, 
till  they  become  as  flint,  and  are  ready  to  strike  out  of 
one  another  with  weapons  of  steel  the  spark  with  which 
is  kindled  the  grand  conflagration !  " 

It  was  getting  dark,  the  meeting  had  broken  up, 
everybody  had  started  for  home.  The  pedestrian,  left 
quite  alone,  had  the  Public  vSquare  all  to  himself,  but 
he,  too,  felt  solitary,  and  turned  his  footsteps  toward 
the  small  inn  of  the  place,  where  a  few  companionable 
spirits  could  alwa3's  be  found. 

The  result  of  the  day,  however,  should  be  stated. 
Two  candidates  were  now  in  the  field,  soliciting  the 
suffrages  of  the  people ;  it  may  be  fairly  said  of  them 
that  they  were,  on  the  whole,  the  best  men  of  their  re- 
spective parties.  Judge  AUworthy,  who  had  held  his 
position  so  long,  bore  an  unsullied  name  for  upright- 


CONSCIENCE    OR   THE    CONSTITUTION?  13 

ness  and  knowledge  of  jurisprudence.  He  was  origin- 
ally from  Virginia  ,  where  be  was  highly  connected  ; 
"he  still  held  by  its  old  training  and  traditions.  He 
liad,  however,  emigrated  at  an  early  day,  and  had  set- 
tled in  the  community  where  he  now  lived ;  he  knew 
its  people  and  their  needs,  and  had  grown  up  with  the 
country.  Still  the  country  was  growing  away  from 
him,  and  he  felt  it;  he  would  often  seem  to  clutch 
after  that  which  was  passing  out  of  his  hands.  There 
was  a  scission  in  him  too,  in  spite  of  himself ;  with 
desperate  obstinacy  he  clung  to  the  old  order  in  his 
conscious  word  and  deed,  but  unconsciously  he  could 
not  help  often  falling  in  with  the  new  tendencies  around 
him.  He  was  fond  of  his  profession,  fond  of  the  Law  ; 
he  delighted  in  weighing,  balancing,  setting  one  point 
against  another  so  impartially  that  it  seemed  to  annoy 
him  to  break  the  equipoise  and  come  to  a  decision. 
He  was  universally  esteemed  and  had  been  repeatedly 
elected  without  opposition,  but  now  an  opponent  ap- 
peared in  the  person  of  Harvey  Conington,  the  young 
man  who  made  the  fervid  peroration  at  the  meeting  in 
the  Public  Square. 

This  young  man  was  born,  reared,  and  educated  in 
Freeburg ;  he  was  a  child  of  the  new  West,  yet  with 
the  lines  of  his  training  and  origin  running  back  to 
New  England.  Liberal,  popular,  enthusiastic,  he 
flung  himself  with  zeal  into  one  side  of  a  question,  and 
had  already  distinguished  himself  as  an  advocate.  By 
nature  and  by  education  he  had  the  moral  rather  than 
the  legal  temperament,  and  it  was  this  state  of  mind 
which  made  him  harmonious  with  the  present  tend- 
ency of  things.     He  had  boldness,  was  not  wanting  in 


14  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

self-esteem,  which  sometimes  showed  itself  outwardly  in 
a  lofty  strut.  Of  his  own  accord  he  had  proclaimed 
himself  a  candidate  in  opposition  to  Judge  Allworthy, 
and  his  speech  at  the  recent  gathering  was  a  sort  of 
ratification  of  himself  by  himself.  Still  he  did  not 
lack  friends,  and  he  had  a  principle ;  in  fact,  he  was 
on  top  of  the  great  incoming  tide,  though  he  was 
hardly  aware  of  it  at  the  time,  at  least  not  aware  of 
its  tremendous  possibilities. 

The  an ti' slavery  agitation  had  arisen,  and  was 
gradually  taking  possession  of  the  political  conviction 
of  the  North.  It  was,  however,  no  mere  theoretical 
dispute  about  right  and  wrong;  the  man  was  sum- 
moned to  act.  A  national  law  had  been  recently 
passed,  which  made  it  incumbent  upon  every  citizen 
of  a  free  country  to  aid  in  returning  a  fugitive  slave 
to  his  master.  The  legislation  of  certain  Northern 
States  had  sought,  with  varying  success,  to  assist  or  to 
obstruct  the  national  law.  From  the  Legislature  the 
question  passed  necessarily  to  the  Judiciary.  The 
issue  was  plain,  in  spite  of  all  legal:  cobwebs  spun 
around  it ;  each  candidate  had  to  be  tested  by  it ;  as 
Judge,  his  influence  was  important  and  his  decision 
might  be  still  more  important.  The  people  rigidly 
applied  the  test  to  every  man  soliciting  their  suffrages ; 
they  asked  not  what  is  the  law,  but  what  does  this  man 
think  is  the  law. 

The  great  event  loves  to  hide  itself  and  play  with 
appearances  before  it  throws  off  its  mask  and  stands 
visible,  in  full  panoply  marching  before  the  front  rank 
of  battle.  In  those  days  many  were  the  tortuosities 
and  subterfuges  and  legal  quibbles  going  to  prove  that 


CONSCIENCE    OR   THE    CONSTITUTION?  15 

by  law  the  law  was  no  law.  Some  said  that  the  State 
law  was  not  constitutional ;  others  declared  that  the 
national  law  was  not  constitutional,  while  the  people 
were  rapidly  beginning  to  believe  that  the  constitu- 
tion itself  was  not  constitutional.  Through  dark  sub- 
terranean channels  of  argumentation  the  stream  of 
discussion  kept  flowing,  with  new  twists  and  turns,  new 
solutions  and  new  diflSculties  daily.  But  after  all  dis- 
tinctions, subtle  and  obvious,  important  and  unim- 
portant, had  been  laid  down,  wiped  out  and  laid  down 
again,  possibly  to  be  wiped  out  again,  there  rose  out 
of  this  turbulent  sea  of  words  one  colossal  question, 
unshaken  by  the  tempest  and  high  as  heaven,  with 
dazzling  nakedness  and  of  terrible  practical  import: 
Am  I  to  obey  Conscience  or  the  Constitution? 

III. 

Our  friend,  the  one  stranger  in  town,  whom  we 
shall  still  have  to  call  the  Pedestrian,  since  not  a  soul 
has  been  able  to  find  out  his  name,  has  concluded  to 
abide  for  a  while  in  Freeburg,  as  the  place  furnishes 
much  food  for  reflection,  and  even  for  entertainment. 
He  is  not  slow  in  perceiving  the  deep  spirit  at  work 
in  its  events ;  he  also  perceives,  with  home-thrust 
glances,  the  ever-changing,  selfish  demon  playing 
through  them  all.  At  one  time  he  finds  delight  in  the 
wild  masquerade  of  personal  motives,  as  they  take  on 
the  garb  of  holy  crusaders ;  then  his  pleasure  is  to 
cut  disguise  into  a  thousand  shreds  with  the  Damascus 
blade  of  his  wit.  He  will  flng  himself  into  the  maddest 
humor  of  the  moment  till  he  seems  a  part  of  it ;  then 


16  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

he  turns  upon  it,  and  slashes  it  to  pieces  In  sarcastic 
glee. 

Even  in  his  personal  conduct  he  seems  to  go 
through  all  the  grotesque  pranks  of  the  Time-Spirit, 
who  has  in  him  become  veritably  incorporate  and 
turned  a  human  being.  He  puts  on  the  long  face  of 
the  saint ;  behold  the  sudden  change :  that  face  trans- 
forms itself  into  the  comic  mask  of  the  buffoon.  He 
will  laugh  at  the  moral , enthusiasm  of  the  Freeburgers 
with  a  cynical  curl  of  the  lip:  "  Yes,  there  is  a  negro 
in  the  wood-pile  here  in  Freeburg,  too.**  Then  he 
changes  to  a  grave,  prophetic  demeanor,  and  replies 
apparently  to  himself:  "  But  the  whole  country  is  a 
wood-pile,  and  there  is  a  negro  in  it,  and  he  will  stay 
in  it  to  the  end." 

Strange  pedestrian!  It  pleases  him  to  pass  in  a 
sentence  from  the  clown  to  the  seer ;  he  soars  to  se- 
raphic heights,  then  sinks  to  satanic  depths  in  a  single 
flight.  A  sneer  he  has,  too,  world-destroying  ;  but  if 
nobody  answers  it  he  will  in  the  end  answer  it  himself. 
At  one  moment  he  seems  to  see  only  the  lowest  per- 
sonal motives  of  men,  which  sport  delusively  around 
every  great  cause ;  then  he  expands  his  pinions,  and 
rises  aloft  out  of  his  grovelling  into  the  very  empyrean 
of  vision,  whence  he  throws  down  to  mortals  scattered 
glimpses  of  the  order  universal  seen  from  above. 

Very  difficult  it  is  for  the  scribe  to  transfer  at 
second  hand  such  flights  into  writ.  The  pedestrian 
has  an  inveterate  habit  of  talking  to  himself  as  if  he 
were  addressing  the  chief  potentate  of  the  Universe, 
and  in  these  communications  he  always  puts  on  the 
air  of  Olympian   authority.     After   witnessing  these 


CONSCIENCE   OR   THE    CONSTITUTION?  17 

events  at  Freeburg,  he  cried  out  one  day  in  a  sudden 
exclamatory  burst,  apparently  without  any  provoca- 
tion :  — 

"I  behold  here  in  this  labor  of  the  time  one  colossal 
struggle  —  at  bottom  there  is  but  one  —  I  call  it  the 
superhuman  struggle  of  the  human  for  freedom.  The 
mighty  striving  is  in  the  man  and  yet  it  transcends  the 
man.  This  freedom  is  the  final  goal  of  every  turn  of 
your  hand,  of  every  thought  in  your  head,  of  every 
heart-beat  in  your  breast  —  a  goal  always  being 
attained,  never  quite  attainable.  On  this  line  man's 
activity  must  forever  be  beyond,  and  be3'ond,  and 
still  further  beyond,  in  order  to  be  at  all ;  to  be  free, 
he  must  always  be  in  the  process  of  getting  free. 
There  is  no  rest ;  let  him  stop  one  moment  and  Fate 
clutches  him.  That  mighty  represser  is  now  on  wing 
just  above  us,  hovering  around  like  a  Harpy,  watching 
the  opportunity  to  pounce  down  upon  the  loiterer  in 
the  halls  of  ease.  How  vast,  how  subtle,  how  fluctu- 
ating the  battle!  The  greater  freedom's  domain,  the 
more  lines  upon  which  it  can  be  attacked.  Once  in 
the  infancy  of  time  it  nestled  secure  in  its  cradle  and 
almost  unknown,  on  the  mountain  tops  of  Hellas  ;  but 
now  it  has  come  down  from  its  fastnesses,  has  crossed 
an  ocean,  and,  settling  over  the  valley  of  a  continent, 
challenges  the  whole  world.  O  man,  thou  Fate-com- 
peller,  be  up  and  a-doing,  the  sun  is  now  rising,  fling 
wide  the  doors,  throw  open  the  windows,  and,  if  need 
be,  tear  down  the  walls  ;  the  atmosphere  is  dark  and 
stifling,  this  house  of  our  fathers  is  too  narrow  for 
us!" 

At  this  point  the  pedestrian  stopped  his  discourse, 
2 


18  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

and  gave  a  sudden  whirl  of  the  rotary  chair,  upon 
which  he  sat,  turning  it  in  another  direction.  The  firm, 
rapt  lines  of  his  face  began  to  break  into  a  thousand 
fragments,  an  impish  chuckle  was  heard  as  he  started 
again,  pointing  to  an  instance  before  him:  — 

"All-comprehensive  I  find  this  pursuit  of  freedom. 
That  man  yonder  who  swallows  his  glass  of  fiery 
usquebaugh,  getting  drunk  and  wallowing  in  the  gut- 
ter, is,  I  take  it,  in  pursuit  of  freedom.  Behold  him 
now  ;  care  cannot  reach  him,  respectability  can  no  longer 
keep  him  in  her  strait  coat,  even  his  own  physical 
strength  cannot  confine  him,  for  just  look  at  him ! 
Reeling  when  he  goes,  tottering  when  he  stands,  he 
yet  is  ready  to  fight  the  whole  world.  I  have  noted, 
too,  our  greatest  poet  makes  Caliban  a  seeker  after 
freedom  as  well  as  Ariel.  I  declare,  on  the  strength 
of  some  acquaintance  with  him,  that  the  supreme 
aspiration  of  the  Devil  himself  is  to  be  free." 

IV. 

The  little  village,  as  the  pedestrian  then  looked  into 
it,  showed  the  rent  heart  of  a  great  drama.  With 
alarming  rapidity  it  reduced  the  two  primordial  factors 
of  human  conduct,  which  ought  to  dwell  together  in 
the  breast  harmoniously,  to  a  terrific  antagonism.  The 
inner  voice  of  the  soul  commanding  one  thing  and  the 
outer  voice  of  the  State  commanding  another  thing, 
were  heard  by  every  man  in  Freeburg,  who  had  to 
settle  with  himself  which  voice  he  should  follow.  It 
was  a  puzzle  which  troubled  the  clearest  head,  at 
times  it  gave  a  wrench  to  the  stoutest  frame.     The 


CONSCIENCE    OR   THE    CONSTITUTION?  19 

very  brain  seemed  cleft  and  the  two  halves  fighting.  It 
was  not  a  question  of  abstract  speculation,  else  the 
practical  Freeburgers  had  flung  it  to  the  winds ;  it 
was  a  thinking  which  looked  straight  into  the  eye  of 
duty,  and  stood  ready  at  any  moment  to  be  summoned 
into  action.  Will  you  help  chase  down  the  panting 
fugitive?  Every  fiber  in  the  man  revolts.  Will  you 
refuse  to  obey  the  supreme  law  of  your  country?  That 
is  to  the  last  degree  distasteful  to  the  free  citizen.  We 
may  palter  and  excuse  and  shift  and  squirm ;  there  is 
no  getting  out  of  the  dilemma ;  we  shall  have  to  make 
the  choice  and  obey  Conscience  or  the  Constitution, 
inasmuch  as  we  cannot  obey  Conscience  and  the  Con- 
stitution. So  the  Freeburgers  kept  thinking  and 
writhing  and  turning  in  their  feverish  bed,  first  on 
one  side  and  th'fen  on  the  other ;  but  there  was  no  re- 
lief, the  two  sides  still  remained,  and  they  remained  in 
burning  opposition. 

The  struggle  was  felt  with  more  or  less  intensity  in 
every  soul  of  the  community,  and  there  was  no  putting 
it  down.  But  it  could  not  stay  merely  an  internal 
struggle  of  the  mind,  it  had  already  become  an  ex- 
ternal living  fact  in  the  two  political  parties,  and  each 
party  had  taken  one  side  of  the  question.  Each  partv, 
too,  had  now  set  up  its  candidate  for  an  office  which 
had  an  important  part  in  governing  the  social  organism. 
Thus  the  strife  of  the  soul  had  flung  itself  out  into  the 
world,  and  had  become  the  strife  of  society,  while  the 
armies  of  the  two  contending  ideas  were  arraying; 
themselves  for  battle  under  the  chosen  captains,  the 
young  Advocate  and  the  old  Judge. 

The  whole  village  was  split  in  twain  by  the  struggle 


20  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

between  these  two  leaders  ;  the  citizens  not  only  took 
sides,  but  rose  on  the  top-most  wave  of  enthusiasm, 
which  then  plunged  down  into  dark  and  bitter  hate. 
Each  party  swore  fealty  to  its  chieftain,  adopted  as  its 
own  every  word  he  had  ever  said,  every  deed  he  had 
ever  done,  and  was  ready  to  maintain  that  its  man  was 
the  best  in  all  respects  —  the  best  thinker,  the  best 
speaker,  and,  in  case  of  need,  the  best  fighter.  Nor 
did  it  stop  with  this  high  appreciation  of  its  own 
leader ;  it  passed  over  into  contempt  for  the  opposite 
leader,  often  into  the  foulest  personal  detraction. 

The  respective  excellences  of  the  two  leaders  had 
to  be  brought  out  before  the  eyes  of  all  the  people ; 
consequently  a  public  discussion  between  them  was 
arranged.  That  former  meeting  on  the  Public  Square 
was  a  small  accidental  matter ;  but  rfow  the  proceed- 
ings were  to  be  conducted  on  a  grand  scale.  The  sun 
rose,  as  usual,  on  the  appointed  day,  and  the  farmers 
from  remote-  districts  came  in  wagons  and  on  horse- 
back to  the  village ;  not  one  of  them  who  had  not  a 
spark  of  the  conflict  in  him,  ready  to  be  blown  into  a 
blaze  by  the  breath  of  eloquence.  Each  was  an  inde- 
pendent unit,  a  freeman ;  he  was  more,  he  was  a  sov- 
ereign, and  he  rode  into  the  Public  Square  with  the 
proud  consciousness  of  his  sovereignty.  But  this 
pride  was  no  empty  one ;  the  price  had  to  be  paid  for 
it,  since  sovereignty  brings  with  itself  responsibility, 
and  responsibilit}"  is  always  dogged  by  anxiety.  The 
American  citizen  on  that  day  in  the  village  of  Free- 
burg  had  cause  for  not  trifling  with  his  own  majesty. 
Underneath  each  hat  was  a  head,  and  in  each  head  was 
a  seething  of  ideas,  a  very  war,  with  battle-flags  of 


CONSCIENCE   OR   THE    CONSTITUTION?  21 

the  brain  waving  violentl}^  and  inscribed  with  princi- 
ples which  summoned  the  man  into  action. 

The  people,  as  they  assembled  in  the  place  of  meet- 
iog,  divided,  of  themselves,  into  two  large  groups, 
which  sometimes  touched  each  other  at  the  edges,  and 
sometimes  separated  altogether.  Along  this  line  of 
division,  swaying  to  and  fro,  were  a  few  scattered  per- 
sons who  seemed  to  belong  to  neither  group.  But 
small  as  was  the  number,  they  could  give  the  majority 
to  one  group  or  the  other,  according  as  they  leaned 
this  way  or  that.  Still  the  separation  was  marked 
and  showed  itself  in  the  most  emphatic  manner.  At 
one  end  of  the  platform  the  strong,  tawny  hand  of  an 
agriculturist  planted  a  flag  and  unfurled  it  to  the  mul- 
titude. "This  is  our  motto,"  he  shouted,  and  every- 
body read  on  it  in  big  letters :  "  The  Constitution  and 
the  Union."  It  was  greeted  with  loud  cheers,  partic- 
ularly from  one  side  of  the  audience.  Then  a  tail, 
spare  man,  somewhat  pale,  with  an  intellectual  cast  of 
features,  sprang  up  at  the  other  end  of  the  platform, 
and  threw  to  the  breeze  a  second  flag,  crying  out  at 
the  top  of  his  voice  excitedly:  "  Here  is  what  we  are 
read}^  to  fight  for;  "  and  the  audience  read  on  it  in 
golden  characters  the  legend:  "^Conscience  and  Hu- 
manity." The  applause  was  very  hearty,  but  if  the 
line  of  it  were  sharply  drawn,  it  would  have  included 
about  one-half  of  the  meeting. 

As  usual  on  such  occasions,  some  obstacle  arose 
which  prevented  the  discussion  from  starting  on  time, 
and  the  delay,  was  filled  up  with  cheers,  with  party 
catch-words  bandied  back  and  forward  between  the 
two  sides.      There  was   at   first  much  good-natured 


22  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

banter,  but  it  had  a  tendency  to  grow  more  and  more 
acrid  till  it  reached  the  point  of  cutting  sarcasm,  which 
spht  the  audience  open  more  widely  than  ever  before. 
It  was  manifest  that  a  cool,  judicial  consideration  of 
the  question  was  not  to  be  had  that  day. 

At  last  the  young  Advocate  arose  and  began  the  de- 
bate, starting  with  a  pretty  compliment  to  his  opponent. 
Then  the  issues  of  the  hour  were  handled  with  great 
spirit ;  they  were  tracked  through  all  their  sinuosities 
and  set  off  with  all  the  barbarisms  of  political  nomen- 
clature. These  we  need  not  put  down  in  writing,  for 
in  the  young  man's  speech  there  was  one  point  at 
bottom,  one  cry  in  the  end:  that  was  the  appeal  to 
the  statute  inscribed  upon  the  heart  of  man,  the  ap- 
peal to  the  law  of  humanity  higher  than  any  enact- 
ment of  States.  Indeed,  the  speaker  proclaimed  in  a 
burst  of  eloquence,  which  called  forth  the  thunders  of 
his  hearers,  that  this  inner  law  in  the  man  was  the  de- 
cree of  God  himself,  far  above  any  institutional  regu- 
lation. To  this  belief  he  had  been  gradually  driven 
by  the  logic  of  his  position  and  the  mighty  propulsion 
of  the  times ;  while  the  excitement  of  his  audience, 
lashed  into  a  tempest  of  enthusiasm,  whirled  him  for- 
ward to  the  extreme  statement  of  his  principle. 

The  Judge,  his  opponent,  who  was  sitting  just  behind 
him  on  the  same  platform,  was  wrought  up  as  never 
before.  He  rose  and  put  the  question  passionately  : 
"Would  you  defy  the  Constitution  and  the  Laws?'* 
The  young  Advocate  stopped  a  moment,  turned  aside 
and  took  several  swallows  of  water  from  a  glass  which 
had  been  placed  on  the  speaker's  stand.  Then  he, 
after  a  little  lull,  went  on  to   declare   that  he  was  a 


CONSCIENCE   OR   THE    CONSTITUTION?         23 

lawyer  himself,  and  do  enemy  to  the  Constitution  and 
the  Laws.  Without  illustrating  further  this  statement 
he  passed  to  a  very  warm  eulogy  of  the  Higher  Law, 
which  every  human  being  in  all  ages  finds  written  by 
the  Creator's  hand  on  the  tablets  of  his  heart.  In  a 
mutter,  which  the  speaker  did  not  choose  to  hear,  Judge 
Allworthy  said  with  a  touch  of  sarcasm  :  ''  I  have  never 
read  any  such  writing  there."  But  a  man  sitting  near 
him  retorted  with  a  glance  of  fire  from  his  eye :  "  For 
a  good  reason :  you  have  not  yet  learned  the  alpha- 
bet." 

The  young  candidate  ended  his  speech,  and  the 
welkin  reverberated  with  the  shouts  of  applause.  How 
noble,  how  elevating  his  words!  Even  his  body 
seemed  to  grow  sympathetic  with  his  lofty  declamation, 
and  to  rise  up  higher  in  stature  before  the  eyes  of 
the  people.  He  had  spoken  upon  his  side  so  strongly, 
so  beautifully,  so  conscientiously,  that  all,  even  his 
opponents,  felt  edified.  But  his  own  party  were  the 
chief  gainers,  the  majority  of  them  he  led  on  that  day 
out  of  the  wilderness  of  doubt  and  unorganized  effort 
into  the  clear,  open  dayhght  of  a  conviction  and  a  pur- 
pose. To  be  sure,  they  were  ready  to  be  led,  and  were 
loudly  calling  for  a  leader.  It  was  noticed,  too,  that 
the  wavering  line,  made  up  of  the  unsettled  ones,  who 
hovered  between  the  two  parties  in  the  audience, 
swayed  emphatically  toward  the  side  of  the  young 
candidate. 

It  was  now  the  Judge's  turn  to  speak.  He  began 
with  manifest  embarrassment,  as  he  felt  himself  strug- 
gling in  a  strong  undertow  which  had  a  power  he  could 
not  stem.     His  dignified  form,  the  authority  of  years 


24  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

in  his  face,  his  calm  judicial  utterance,  his  careful 
balancing  of  points  on  both  sides  of  the  question,  were 
lost  in  the  strong  emotions  of  the  people,  who  had  been 
stirred  up  from  the  depths  by  the  fervid  appeals  of 
the  young  Advocate.  Still  the  goo'l  man  went  on, 
weighing,  counseling,  excusing ;  he  cried  peace,  he 
suggested  compromise.  He  unfolded  in  grave,  well- 
balanced  periods  the  majesty  of  the  Law,  the  great- 
ness of  the  Constitution,  the  wisdom  of  our  ancestors 
who  made  the  document.  He  grew  warm  in  painting 
the  dangers  of  the  present  agitation,  its  strong  tend- 
ency toward  illegality,  and  even  unconstitutionality  ;  he 
denounced  the  disturbance  caused  b}'  it  between  neigh- 
bors, between  States,  between  the  two  great  sections 
of  the  Union.  The  recent  enactments,  which  had 
roused  so  much  feeling,  he  would  not  defend,  but  he 
tried  to  excuse ;  there  were  points  in  favor  of  them,  as 
well  as  against  them.  In  all  these  exciting  matters 
he  besought  his  hearers  to  endure  the  present  with 
equanimity,  and  not  rashly  fly  to  the  unknown  ills  of  a 
conflict,  of  which  no  one  could  predict  the  result. 
The  key-note,  which  with  simple  variations  ran  through 
his  speech,  was,  Abide  by  what  is  established,  hold  fast 
to  the  institutions  transmitted  from  the  fathers,  listen 
not  to  these  passionate  appeals  to  an  abstract  right 
which  never  existed  and  never  can  exist ;  obey 
not  the  fantastic,  delusive  promptings  of  your  own 
self-will  in  opposition  to  the  laws  of  your  country. 
At  last  the  speaker,  lowering  his  voice  into  its  most 
solemn  tone,  concluded  with  great  impressiveness : 
"And  let  no  man  ascribe  to  the  decree  of  God 
that  which  is  merely  his  own  narrow  judgment;  let 


CO^'bClENCE    OR    THE    CONSTITUTION?  25 

not  the  weak,  erring  human  being  deify  any  part  of 
himself,  not  even  his  conscience." 

It  was  felt  by  all  to  be  a  good  speech,  full  of  peace 
and  kindness  as  well  as  legality  ;  it  was  also  pathetic 
in  parts,  and,  when  the  venerable  Judge  closed,  many 
an  aged  eye  was  watered  with  tears  at  the  remem- 
brance of  the  good  old  time  when  no  such  conflict  was 
abroad  in  the  land.  So  restful,  so  soothing,  so  pacify- 
ing to  the  troubled  heart  was  the  entire  tone  and  effect 
of  the  address  that  it  seemed  to  be  sent  down  from 
above  as  a  peace-offering  to  the  strifeful  elements. 
Unconsciously^  the  audience  swelled  with  the  feeling  of 
good-will  and  fraternity  till  it  surged  together,  and  the 
line  of  division  was  quite  obliterated.  It  was  an  over- 
flowing moment;  but  just  then  the  young  Advocate 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  blazed  up  with  that  furious 
question  aflame  with  infernal  discord:  *'  Would  you 
return  a  fugitive  slave  to  his  master?"  The  Judge 
not  only  hesitated  but  stammered";  he  too  reached  for 
the  glass  of  water  and  raised  it  to  his  lips,  but  he 
choked  in  swallowing  the  first  draught;  then  on  ac- 
count of  a  spasmodic  cough  he  spilt  the  contents  over 
his  clothes.  With  a  second  draught  he  washed  down 
his  perturbation  somewhat,  and  succeeded  in  uttering 
this  response  amid  several  attempts  to  clear  his  throat : 
"That  would  be  according  to  circumstances." 
"What  circumstances!"  flashed  the  young  Advocate, 
"  have  you  a  conscience?" 

At  this  question,  asked  in  a  forward  if  not  impudent 
manner,  the  Judge,  famous  for  urbanity,  lost  his  tem- 
per; the  judicial  equihbrium,  which  was  his  pride, 
broke  down  and  rushed  madly  to  passion,  which  found 


26  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

vent  in  the  threat  that  he  would,  at  the  first  opportun- 
ity, publicly  cow-hide  the  impertinent  Yankee  puppy. 
The  young  Advocate  had  coin  of  the  same  stamp  in 
store,  and  paid  him  back  by  calling  him  a  weazen  old 
dough-face  and  blood-hound  of  the  Southern  nigger- 
driver. 

This  short  duel  of  vilification  threw  the  spark  which 
kindled  a  whole  magazine  of  combustibles.  With  a 
word  the  battle  in  the  brain  began  to  change  to  a  bat- 
tle in  the  Public  Square,  and  the  conflict  of  ideas 
threatened  at  once  to  become  a  conflict  of  muscle. 
The  dividing  line  of  the  audience  was  more  marked 
than  ever,  and  the  two  groups  first  surged  wildly  apart, 
then  surged  back  fiercely  toward  each  other  in  ap- 
parent hostility.  The  little  intermediate  band  of  un- 
certainties ran  away  from  a  place  where  they  stood 
between  two  fires.  There  were  menaces,  brandishings 
of  clenched  fists,  vociferations  of  the  multitude,  in 
which  everything  might  have  been  said,  but  nothing 
could  be  heard.  In  a  few  cases  it  came  to  a  little 
thumping  and  punching  and  stray  strokes  of  canes, 
whereof  the  innocent,  as  usual,  carried  off  the  lion's 
share. 

But  how  about  the  two  speakers,  the  grand  prota- 
gonists of  the  conflict,  both  of  whom  were  together  on 
the  platform?  Each  moved  toward  the  other  in  hos- 
tile attitude,  but  intervening  friends  held  them  asun- 
der ;  both  shouted  themselves  red  in  the  face  with 
epithets  which  their  own  good  fortune  drowned  in  the 
din.  In  his  wrath  the  Judge  had  lost  his  legality,  the 
young  Advocate  his  universal  benevolence,  and  both 
their    dignity.     The   Judge   whirled   and   seized   the 


CONSCIENCE    OR   THE    CONSTITUTION?         .27 

staff  of  the  flag  that  was  flying  near  him,  inscribed  with 
the  words:  "The  Constitution  and  the  Union,"  and 
prepared  to  use  it  as  a  weapon  against  his  assailant. 
The  young  Advocate  turned  about  and  laid  hold  of  the 
staff  of  the  other  flag  which  floated  above  him  bearing 
the  blazon,  *'  Conscience  and  Humanit}^"  and  made 
ready  to  return  stroke  for  stroke.  They  were  now 
real  standard-bearers ;  they  began  to  push  and  punch 
each  other  with  the  poles,  and  the  very  flags  grappled, 
intertwined,  and  fought,  we  may  say,  in  the  breeze; 
they  rolled  and  reared  and  writhed  together  like  two 
huge  streaked  serpents  of  red,  white  and  blue  contend- 
ing for  the  mastery  over  the  surface  of  the  sea.  At 
last  the  men  were  separated,  and  the  flags  drooped 
upon  their  staffs ;  it  was  noticed  that  the  one  flag, 
which  was  inscribed  with  "The  Constitution  and  the 
Union  "  was  rent  from  top  to  bottom,  and  the  other 
flag  bearing  the  imprint  of  "  Conscience  and  Human- 
ity "  was  pierced  over  and  over  with  many  holes  which 
let  through  a  good  deal  of  sunlight. 


At  this  moment  the  dark  form  of  a  man  was  seen 
slipping  through  the  crowd  along  the  line  just  where 
the  two  edges  of  conflict  clashed  together.  He  dodged 
the  blows  of  both  sides ;  he  would  stoop  and  crawl 
for  a  short  distance  under  a  row  of  brandished  arms, 
then  rise  at  an  open  space  and  run  with  all  his  might, 
Jietting  an  occasional  thwack,  till  he  reached  the  plat- 
form, which  he  mounted  at  a  leap.  Few  took  notice  of 
the   entire  feat,   though   all  saw  him   slipping  past, 


28  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

while  they  perchance  were  preparing  to  fight  over  and 
around  hira.  Like  a  blaclc  slippery  eel  he  wound 
through  all  their  hands  and  arms  so  slick  and  pliant 
that  the  spectator  would  be  apt  to  regard  him  as  the 
object  which  had  escaped  the  wrath  of  the  multitude, 
while  their  blows,  aimed  at  him,  fell  on  one  another. 

It  wasCudjo  Bell,  the  only  African  in  Freeburg,  and 
a  reputed  runaway  slave.  The  strange  fact  must  be 
noted  that  he  was  in  the  employ  of  Judge  AUworthy, 
who  had  the  Southern  preference  for  black  servants, 
and  obtained  them  when  he  could,  though  in  the  pres- 
ent case  he  more  than  suspected  Cudjo's  true  legal  con- 
dition. But  the  Judge  was  a  man,  with  all  his  legality ; 
did  he  not  choke  at  the  question  whether  he  would 
return  a  fugitive,  as  if  his  nature  instinctively  revolted 
at  the  idea,  and  finally  did  he  not  dodge  the  point  in 
his  answer?  All  of  which  indicated  a  secret  inner  pro- 
test against  his  own  doctrine.  As  soon  as  Cudjo 
reached  the  platform,  he  interposed  himself  between 
the  combatants,  stood  before  the  Judge  and  spoke  in 
a  low  tone:  "  Come,  the  carriage  is  ready  and  all 
the  people  are  waiting  for  you." 

The  thought  of  his  family,  and  also  of  his  guests,  of 
whom  he  kept  his  spacious  mansion  full,  with  the  old 
Virginia  hospitalit}^,  was  enough  to  bring  the  Judge 
to  his  senses.  Probably,  too,  he  was  already  satisfied 
with  his  share  of  the  fracas.  He  moved  off  in  com- 
pany with  the  black  man,  who  followed  at  his  side, 
a  little  to  the  rear,  with  an  outlook  for  any  act  of 
violence  against  his  employer.  It  was  an  odd  sight 
to  see  the  lofty  Virginian  and  the  humble  African 
inarch  along  together,  the  latter  being  the  protection 


CONSCIENCE    OK   THE    CONSTITUTION?  29 

of  the  former  by  the  very  color  of  the  skin,  as  the  party 
of  the  young  Advocate  had  no  design  of  troubling  the 
black  man.  As  they  passed  out  the  edge  of  the  crowd 
a  hot  zealot  shouted:  "  Why  do  you  not  crush  your 
oppressor?'*  But  Cudjo,  rolling  his  looks  upon  the 
man  till  even  the  white  of  his  eye  seemed  to  flash  fire 
in  warning,  said  nothing,  and  went  ahead. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Cudjo  lived  in  the  town  by 
a  kind  of  sufferance  and  contrary  to  law.  He  had  no 
right  to  be  a  freeman,  still  there  was  a  right  by  which 
he  was  free.  He  had  entangled  the  whole  community 
in  his  cause  ;  he  had  helped,  if  not  to  engender,  at  least 
to  reveal  the  conflict  in  which  all  were  involved.  By 
law  he  was  an  outlaw,  because  he  had  sought  and 
gained  his  liberty,  and  the  whole  population  of  Free- 
burg,  he,  to  a  certain  extent,  made  outlaws  with  him- 
self, because  they  tolerated,  yea,  supported  his  liberty 
in  opposition  to  law.  Is  it  a  wonder  that  the  town  felt 
its  civil  hfe  rent  to  the  very  heart?  His  presence 
haunted  the  place  ;  he  was  an  air-picture  of  darkness 
continuously  flitting  before  the  community  and  show- 
ing the  deep  scission  in  its  soul. 

The  man  who  was  really  more  entangled  in  the 
meshes  of  this  double,  contradictory  life  than  any  other 
was  Judge  Allworthy,  the  great  upholder  of  legality.  He 
employed  the  supposed  fugitive,  did  it  knowingly  ;  what 
the  law  forbade  he  presisted  in  doing  —  he  harbored, 
fed  and  supported  a  runaway  slave.  The  secret  un- 
dertow of  time  had  caught  him  up  and  was  bearing 
him  forward  too,  though  he  protested,  resisted,  denied. 
His  candidacy  very  naturally  made  the  breach  in  him 
wider ;  the  louder  his  spoken  defense,  the  stronger  the 


30  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

secret  answer  within.  Thus  he  was  driven  into  deeper 
inconsistency  and  conflict  than  any  other  man  in  the 
community. 

The  Judge  broke  out  into  open  commendation  of 
the  negro  when  the  two  were  beyond  the  hearing  of 
the  multitude:  — 

**  Cudjo,  you  were  the  most  sensible  person  in  the 
crowd.'* 

The  darkey  grinned  and  bowed  obsequiously  with 
hat  off,  and  the  white  man  went  on  to  make  a  compari- 
son in  which  he  and  his  pale-faced  race  were  not  the 
superiors :  — 

**  You  had  the  coolest  head  of  us  all.'* 

Again  the  negro  chuckled  and  ducked  his  head,  but 
did  not  take  off  his  hat.     The  judge  continued :  — 

"•  I  say  it  openly  here  that  you  showed  yourself  a 
man  to-day," 

The  black  fellow  stiffened  his  giggling  lips  into  a 
strong  curve  of  resolution,  he  straightened  himself  up 
till  he  stood  erect,  overtopping  his  employer  a  little, 
and  spoke  with  a  deep  strong  roll  in  his  words :  — 

"  I  hope  yet  to  be  a  man  —  a  freeman  inFreeburg.'* 

At  these  words  the  Judge  silently  looked  into  the 
face  of  Cudjo,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  read  something 
written  there  which  he  had  never  seen  before.  His 
eyes  began  to  open  to  what  had  been  lying  under  his 
glance  day  after  day  for  a  long  time ;  and  there  came 
over  him  a  flash  of  unsteady  light,  a  dim  feeling  of 
inconsequence  in  denying  manhood  to  a  man  accord- 
ing to  law,  yet  recognizing  and  encouraging  it  con- 
trary to  law.  But  he  had  reached  his  carriage-door 
?ind  entered,  the  flash  passed    into    darkness,  as  he 


CONSCIENCE    OR    THE    CONSTITUTION?  31 

was  whirled  homewards  amid  the  gay  pleasant  talk  of 
friends.  Still  his  spirit  was  in  a  ferment  in  spite  of 
his  self-suppression ;  he  had  left  the  people  whose 
leader  he  was,  behind  him  in  a  ferment ;  the  one  was, 
indeed,  an  image  of  the  other,  and  he  could  not  help 
questioning  himself  about  the  meaning  of  the  vivid 
scene  he  had  just  beheld. 

The  fact  is,  such  an  occurrence  had  never  happened 
before  in  the  town ;  the  citizens,  indeed,  thought  a 
strife  of  that  kind  impossible  in  their  community,  till 
it  actually  took  place.  The  appeal  was  about  to  be 
made  to  that  peaceful  weapon,  the  ballot,  which  all 
had  been  taught  to  believe  was  the  universal  remedy 
for  every  political  and  social  trouble ;  but  even  in 
Freeburg,  the  stronghold  of  the  ballot,^  it  had  for 
once  been  found  inadequate  —  not  the  bringer  of 
peace  but  of  conflict.  The  ballot  rests  primarily 
upon  equality  —  equality  of  the  same  number  of  per- 
sons in  muscle  and  courage,  and,  to  a  certain  degree, 
equality  in  intellect.  Its  pre-supposition  is,  that  the 
lesser  party  will  get  whipped,  if  the  dispute  be  re- 
ferred to  the  arbitrament  of  arms.  To  find  out  which 
is  the  lesser  party,  the  poll  is  taken,  and  the  minority 
quictlv  considers  itself  beaten  without  a  fi2:ht.  The  \ 
great  happiness  of  the  ballot  is,  that  it  dispenses  with  \ 
the  necessity  of  a  physical  tussle  to  settle  affairs  in  a 
case  of  disagreement.  But  all  must  accept  it,  the  de- 
feated as  well  as  the  successful  party ;  the  recognition 
of  equality  is  the  peace-giving  principle  which  under- 
lies the  ballot  as  well  as  a   republican    government. 

Now,  the  strange  fact  came  to  light  that  this  prin- 
ciple of  equality  was  no  longer  fully  acknowledged  in 


.B2  THE   FREEBDRGERS. 

Freeburg,  even  in  its  muscular  application.  Certain 
vigorous  constitutionalists  there  were,  friends  of  the 
Judge,  each  one  of  whom  thought  he  could  handle  two 
at  least  of  the  opposite  party,  while  some  of  the  latter 
claimed  that  they  were  thrice  armed,  inasmuch  as 
their  cause  was  just,  and.,  consequently,  that  they 
could  lay  out  three  enemies  apiece.  Manifestly  the 
recognition  of  equality,  especialh^  of  physical  equality, 
was  no  longer  a  trait  of  these  citizens,  and  the  result 
was,  peace  began  to  spread  her  wings  for  a  flight  from 
their  habitations. 

The  contest  in  Freeburg  took  place  some  years  be- 
fore the  great  national  struggle  in  which  the  ballot 
could  no  longer  effect  a  decision,  and  in  which  an 
average  man  on  one  side  often  thought  himself  a  match 
for  two  average  men  on  the  other  side.  This  muscular 
superiorit3^  proved  a  delusion  in  both  cases,  and  the 
people  returned  to  the  ballot  after  letting  pretty  much 
all  the  fighting  blood  out  of  one  another.  But  even 
this  delusion  of  superiority  had  its  function ;  it  was 
the  instrument  of  the  higher  purpose ;  behind  it  and 
through  it  an  idea  was  at  work  arming  itself  with 
courage  and  confidence  and  nerving  its  supporters  up 
to  the  conflict.  Men  will  prepare  to  fight  when  they 
think  they  can  win.  A  thousand  villages  were  plainly 
seen  drifting  into  the  same  struggle,  the  whole  country 
was  drifting  into  it,  and  was  taking  sides  along  an 
imaginary  lin«  of  battle. 

But  in  the  present  case  the  Freeburgers  concluded 
not  to  fight.  When  the  two  speakers  had  ceased  to 
sputter  their  fire-flakes  of  wrath  and  had  withdrawn,  the 
trouble  was  quieted  by  cool-headed  citizens.     To  be 


COXSCIEXCE    OR    THE    COXSTITUTIOX  ?  33 

sure,  each  party  afterward  blamed  the  other  for  start- 
ing the  uproar,  and  supported  the  charge  by  unques- 
tionable documents  ;  each  party,  too,  claimed  the  vic- 
tory in  this  preliminary  skirmish  on  the  Public  Square. 
These  matters  were  never  settled,  but  that  little  fitful 
flash  of  revolution  remained  long  in  tlie  minds  of  peo- 
ple who  have  a  tendency  to  watch  for  signs  of  the  fu- 
ture ;  it  was  manifestly  a  small  denial  of  the  ballot  as 
the  final  umpire  of  political  strife ;  a  little  battle  had 
taken  place  in  Freeburg,  betokening  to  many  souls 
what  was  going  to  happen  in  the  great  world. 

There  was  one  man  who  stood  gazing  at  the  scene 
from  the  outside  of  the  crowd :  it  was  our  pedestrian, 
perched  on  a  slight  rise  of  the  ground  which  gave  him 
a  complete  survey  of  all  that  transpired.  He  persisted 
in  remaining  in  town,  and  had  become,  for  the  present 
at  least,  a  Freeburger.  When  the  tumult  had  ceased 
and  the  people  had  gone  away,  he  too  started  off 
slowly,  departing  with  the  last  man,  whom  he  began 
to  address  in  a  rather  inquisitive  manner: — 

"  Good  day,  sir.  I  would  like  to  know  why  you  stay 
here  after  the  rest  are  gone  ?  ' ' 

"  I  like  to  be  always  last,"  said  the  man,  "it  brings 
good  luck." 

"  Can  you  tell  me  why?  " 

*'It  often  brings  better  knowledge,"  replied  the 
man. 

"And  upon  that  your  good  luck  finally  depends," 
added  the  pedestrian. 

"  I  see  you  know  how  to  find  out  the  way  the  wind 
blows,"  said  the  man. 

The  pedestrian  felt  no  longer  any  need  of  talking  on 
3 


34  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

general  topics,  so  he  burst  at  once  into  the  subject 
next  to  his  heart  and  asked: — 

"  What  did  you  think  of  the  speaking?  *' 

*'  It  was  good." 

"Which  of  the  two  speakers  made  the  better 
speech?  " 

"Both  of  them/' 

"  On  which  side  are  you?  " 

"  I  am  on  the  winning  side." 

"  But  how  can  you  tell  which  is  the  winning  side?  " 

"  Everything  is  settled  by  ballot  for  me." 

"  You  are  a  good  citizen,  I  imagine,"  said  the  pedes- 
trian, as  his  companion  nodded  acquiescence  and 
darted  off  into  another  road.  The  pedestrian,  alone 
once  more,  added  in  a  low  tone,  for  his  own  ears: 
"But  you  are,  I  judge,  a  miserable  sort  of  man." 

He  was  roused,  he  could  not  stop  himself  in  the  full 
rush  of  his  spirits,  the  words  came  of  themselves  and 
rolled  helplessly  from  his  tongue,  though  nobody  was 
present: — 

"  There  are  some  things  which  cannot  be  settled  by 
the  ballot.  It  is  the  most  cunning  piece  of  political 
mechanism  that  was  ever  constructed,  but  it  will  not 
run  of  itself  forever.  I  can  now  discern  an  invisible 
hand  putting  a  winch  on  the  machine  and  beginning 
to  turn,  since  the  wheels  threaten  to  stop  with  the 
ordinary  appliance  of  power.  What  a  dust,  and 
clatter,  and  buzzing  through  the  land  in  consequence 
of  the  new  dynamic  reservoir  which  has  been  tapped !  " 

"  Strange  and  yet  more  strange!  "  he  continued  to 
exclaim  ;  "  clearly,  it  cannot  be  settled  by  the  ballot. 
It  has  already  been  appealed  to   the  physical  might 


CONSCIENCE    OR    THE    CONSTITUTION  V  35 

which  stands  behind  the  ballot  and  gives  to  the  same 
its  primal  energy.  Wlio,  what  is  making  this  appeal? 
Neither  one  party  nor  the  other,  neither  this  man  nor 
that,  yet  it  is  made  with  the  voice  of  thunder, 
rumbling  down  from  the  mountains  of  the  East,  and. 
reverberating  over  the  vast  Western  prairies,  till  it 
rolls  into  the  Pacific  Ocean.  Strange,  indeed,  that 
the  ballot  cannot  settle  the  trouble.  And  our  subtle 
device,  the  rule  of  the  majority,  no  longer  is  going  to 
rule!  Why,  ye  Powers!  Another  matter  has  to  be 
settled  and  a  much  deeper  —  something  which  neither 
majority  nor  minority  are  willing  to  see  or  do,  but 
which  they  must  be  disciplined  into  seeing  and  doing. 
Behold  the  electric  flashes  all  around  the  horizon ; 
hark!  it  is  the  mutter  of  the  gathering  tempest." 

In  spite  of  these  unpropitious  signs,  the  ballot 
was  not  set  aside  in  Freeburg,  and  the  majority  for 
the  present  continued  to  rule.  The  election  was  held, 
not  long  after  these  scenes  of  turbulence^ in  perfect 
quiet;  everybody  had  his  vote,  and  astonishing  was 
the  result.  The  Judge,  so  highly  respected  and  so 
worthy,  was  defeated  by  his  fellow-citizens  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  ;  his  party  became  the  minority,  and  he, 
smarting  under  the  feeling  of  popular  ingratitude, 
withdrew  his  thoughts  from  all  public  activity  into  the 
privacy  of  his  own  bosom.  There,  indeed,  old  as  he 
was,  he  might  find  a  new  world  rising  out  of  dark- 
ness. But  the  young  Advocate,  who  had  placed  an- 
other law  above  law,  was  now  called  to  administer  the 
written  law;  what  will  he  do  with  it?  This  is  the 
problem  which  he  has  to  solve,  and  it  is  quite  likely 
that  in  his  voyage  he,  too,  may  discover  the  outlines, 


36  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

more  or  less  distinct,  of  a  new  world.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  Judge,  who  held  law  to  be  supreme  above 
conscience,  is  handed  over  to  his  conscience,  being  now 
liberated  from  the  legal  trammels  of  his  calling ;  in  his 
new  freedom  he  will  have  time  to  study  her  behests 
more  than  ever  before.  To  both  successful  and  un- 
successful candidates  the  change  promises  a  fresh 
harvest  of  experience,  possibly  a  breaking  over  limits, 
and  a  widening  of  the  mental  horizon. 

VI. 

The  great  social  event  of  Freeburg  during  this  sea- 
son must  also  be  chronicled,  as  it  links  into  these 
occurrences.  It  was  the  reception  tendered  to  Harvey 
Conington  in  honor  o-f  his  election.  All  the  finest 
dresses  in  the  town  appeared,  some  of  them  silken 
heirlooms  of  ancestral  finery  ;  but  there  was  not  a  bon- 
net which  was  not  new,  and  the  angelic  wearers,  clad 
in  their  celestial  dry  goods,  filed  with  a  witchery  of 
smiles  before  the  young  and  handsome  Judge,  who, 
in  addition  to  youth  and  beauty,  had  a  good  prospect 
of  worldly  prosperity  and  honor.  The  ribbons  and 
frills  and  feathers  fluttered  in  his  face  caressingly,  a 
little  ocean  of  millinery  surged  and  frothed  around 
him  as  if  ready  to  swallow  him  up  in  its  perfumed 
waves.  All  the  young  ladies  present  moved  toward 
the  center  to  cast  a  glance  into  the  human  mirror 
there  placed,  which  would  reflect  back  to  them  their 
happiest  looks,  their  tenderest  words,  their  sweetest 
smiles.     They  were  not  disappointed. 

Still,  at  the  height  of  all  this  homage,  Harvey  Con- 


CONSCIENCE    Oil    THK    CONSTITUTION?  37 

ington  was  observed  to  turn  away  from  the  bright  eyes 
immediately  surrounding  him,  and  to  cast  repeated 
and  steady  glances  into  a  distant  part  of  the  room. 
At  last  he  left  his  central  position  and  passed  to  the 
unobtrusive  corner  where  Miss  Hope  Winslow  was 
sitting,  one  of  the  older  young  ladies  of  the  company, 
very  neatly  but  plainly  clad,  and  universally  known  as 
the  Yankee  school-mistress.  He  had  been  her  pupil, 
as  well  as  man}-  of  those  present,  and  he  had  not  for- 
gotten her  lesson.  As  he  stood  in  her  presence,  she 
offered  to  rise,  but  he  begged  her  to  remain  seated, 
while  he  saluted  her  with  great  warmth,  tempered, 
however,  with  careful  respect.  She  was  prompt  to 
speak :  — 

"  Shall  I  now  address  you  by  the  title  of  Judge 
Conington?" 

"  No,  call  me  Harvey  still,  as  of  old ;  I  continue  to 
be  your  pupil." 

"  Well,  Harvey,  you  have  won  a  great  triumph." 

"Yes,  the  beginning  has  been  made,"   said  he. 

"  It  is  but  the  beginning,"  she  replied,  "  and  you 
are  the  one  chosen  to  lead  off ;  much  more  is  to  fol- 
low." 

"  But,"  said  he,  "  this  is  not  my  victory  so  much  as 
it  is  yours." 

"We  are  both,  I  hope,  the  instruments  of  a  good 
cause. ' ' 

"  But  hush!  Here  comes  your  opponent  and  mine." 

It  was  Judge  AUworthy  whom  they  saw  approach- 
ing. He,  with  a  good-breeding  which  showed  the 
living  soul  of  honor,  had  made  on  the  day  following 
the  angry  debate,  an  apology  for  his  hasty  words,  and 


38  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

had  sought  reconciliation  with  Harvey  Conington. 
And  on  the  present  occasion,  with  a  courtesy  which 
rises  up  and  touches  the  very  heart  of  charity,  he  had 
come  to  congratulate  the  young  Advocate  and  to  wish 
him  success  in  his  new  vocation,  and  finally  to  offer 
him  the  free  use  of  all  the  experience  which  he  him- 
self had  gathered  during  a  long  official  career.  To 
the  honor  of  both  it  can  be  said  the  meeting  was 
mutually  cordial. 

But  in  the  midst  of  their  talk  a  sudden  wave  from 
that  sea  of  flounces,  furbelows,  and  farthingales  swept 
into  the  little  corner  and  carried  off  Harvey  Conington 
on  its  very  top,  to  return  no  more. 

The  Judge  for  a  moment  looked  at  him  floating 
helplessly  away  on  the  crest  of  those  beautiful 
billows,  then  turned  around ;  before  him  stood  Miss 
Hope  Winslow,  eye  looking  straight  into  eye.  Thej^ 
nodded  and  spoke  to  each  other,  as  they  were  well 
acquainted  ;  but  the  Judge  felt  her  glance  as  never  be- 
fore ;  it  seemed  to  plant  itself  in  his  path  with  armed 
resistance,  and  to  cut  its  way  through  him  internally. 

The  chatter  of  indistinguishable  voices,  the  rustle  of 
garments,  the  uproar  of  music  and  dance  encompassed 
them ;  the  gay  iridescent  foam  of  Time  dashed  every- 
where around  them  ;  still  there  they  stood,  face  to  face, 
the  Virginia  lawyer  and  the  Yankee  school-mistress ; 
the  secret  genius  of  each  had  met  in  opposition,  and, 
in  the  flash  of  a  moment,  had  grappled  for  mastery. 
Both  their  bodies  remained  motionless,  as  if  watching 
intently  the  battle  of  their  own  spirits.  Thus  they 
stood  for  some  moments — helpless,  nay,  speechless 
spectators  of  a  conflict  taking  place  between  those  two 


CONSCIENCE    OR    THE    CONSTITUTION?  39 

naked  gymnasts,  their  souls,  which  without  the  least 
warning  had  leaped  forth  and  seized  each  other  with  a 
grip  like  death.  Both  were  lost  in  amazement  at 
themselves ;  they  hardly  saw  each  other,  and  were  af- 
fected quite  in  the  same  manner.  Both  were  courte- 
ous people,  but  courtesy  had  sunk,  without  the  in- 
tention of  either,  into  that  inner  sea,  where  existence 
is  stript  naked  and  washed  clean  of  all  outer  forms 
and  appearances. 

Such  a  struggle,  however,  lasts  but  a  short  time. 
The  Judge,  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  seconds,  took  a 
step  backward,  while  Miss  Winslow  remained  im- 
movable, perchance  she  leaned  forward  a  little.  Then 
another  unconscious  step  to  the  rear  before  her  steady 
forcing  look ;  then  both  seemed  to  wake  up  out  of 
their  momentary  trance.  The  Judge  bowed  in  a  kind 
of  stiff  necessity  quite  unusual  with  him,  and  passed 
out  of  the  room  with  a  step  by  no  means  firm  ;  he  was 
not  well.  Miss  Winslow,  very  pale  in  the  face  and 
evidently  much  exhausted  by  the  trial,  slowly  relaxed 
in  every  part  of  her  frame  from  the  strain,  and,  when 
the  Judge  disappeared,  she  slipped  down  easily  into 
her  chair,  casting  a  final  satisfied  look  over  the  field  of 
conflict. 


CHAPTER    SECOND. 


UNDER  THE  T^ALL  APPLE  TREE. 
I. 

The  reception  given  to  Harvey  Conington  was  held 
at  the  house  of  Herman  Firestonej  Esq.,  a  prominent 
citizen  of  Freeburg,  who  had  been  very  friendly  to  the 
cause  of  the  new  Judge.  The  house  was  one  of  the 
largest  in  the  town,  and  there  was  a  daughter  in  the 
family.  Miss  Wanda  Firestone,  who  was  both  suitable 
and  ambitious  to  be  the  hostess  on  such  an  occasion. 
It  also  gave  her  a  momentary  victory  over  a  rival,  a 
young  lady  who  had  dared  to  contest  with  her  the 
belleship  of  the  village.  Miss  Wanda  seldom  agreed 
with  her  father  in  anything ;  she  obeyed  implicitly  her 
own  caprice,  which  had  the  characteristic  of  never 
going  a  second  time  in  any  former  path.  But  recently 
she  had  united  with  her  father  in  giving  warm  support 
to  Mr.  Conington,  and  rumor  had  it  that  her  interest 
in  the  young  lawyer  was  not  exclusively  political. 

The  next  morning  the  appearance  of  the  Firestone 
mansion  was  highly  unsatisfactory  to  Aunt  Polly,  the 
housekeeper,  and,  indeed,  the  acting  mother  of  the 
family.  It  looked  as  if  a  tornado  had  swept  through 
every  room  in  the  building,  and  had  taken  a  wild  de- 
(40) 


UNDER   THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  41 

light  in  turning  all  things  topsy-turvy.  Chairs  and 
tables  upset,  dirty  dishes  scattered  about,  the  favorite 
China  cup  broken,  the  elegant  carpet  soiled,  are  a 
short  list  of  the  casualties.  Aunt  Polly,  picking  up 
her  new  knitting,  which  lay  on  the  floor  with  the 
needles  out,  stood  and  surveyed  the  scene,  leaning  on 
her  broom  in  a  momentary  fit  of  despair;  soon,  how- 
ever, she  rallied,  and  with  heroic  courage  began 
her  attack  on  disorder.  Under  these  circumstances 
many  people  might  expect  her  to  give  utterance  to 
her  feehngs  in  one  of  her  close-cut  satirical  remarks  ; 
but,  in  such  moments  she  possessed  the  grand  and 
unusual  faculty  of  keeping  silent. 

She  showed  no  signs  of  ill-temper  to  a  couple  of 
lads  who  entered  the  yard  and  asked  after  Henrj-,  a 
youthful  son  of  the  house.  She  replied  to  their  in- 
quiry: — 

"  He  is  over  3^onder,  under  the  Tall  Apple  Tree.'* 

The  younger  of  the  two  boys,  who  went  by  the  name 
of  Dick  Turnover,  at  once  gave  his  opinion : — 

"We  cannot  get  anything  out  of  him  in  that  place, 
he  is  sure  to  sail  off  into  the  clouds.  We  might  as 
well  go  back  home." 

But  the  second  youth  refused  to  follow  this  sugges- 
tion. To  his  surname,  Peter,  had  been  added  a  title, 
the  Pounder,  bestowed  in  honor  of  the  solid  blows 
which  he  was  accustomed  to  give  his  studies  at  school. 
Peter  now  said :  — 

"  Let  us  go  over  and  see  what  he  will  do." 

The  younger  boy  yielded,  which  was  something 
very  unusual  with  him ;  both  then  moved  together  in 
a  meandering  line,  through  the  garden  and  over  the 


42  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

fence,  to  the  point  indicated,  which  they  knew  well. 
Their  visit  resulted  from  a  desire  of  finding  light  on  a 
knotty  point  in  a  forthcoming  lesson ;  Henry  seemed 
to  them  the  great  bearer  of  illumination  in  such  mat- 
ters. But  a  deeper,  though  unconscious  motive  was 
to  build  a  gorgeous  air-castle  under  the  apple  tree, 
and  to  behold  its  golden  dome  rising  up  through  the 
branches  into  the  very  clouds. 

Yet  Dick,  after  seeing  such  a  castle  built,  always 
took  the  pleasure  of  a  savage  in  tearing  it  down.  This 
boy  was  one  of  the  characters  of  the  town.  He  had  a 
light,  ready,  mother-wit,  which  exercised  itself  in 
turning  the  serious  objects  of  life  into  fun,  and  which 
stung  all  enthusiasm,  especially  in  those  of  his  owii 
age,  with  sarcasm.  He  was  the  most  powerful  and 
the  most  feared  youth  in  the  village ;  he  was  the  one 
who  gave  the  nicknames.  These  usually  clung  to  the 
person  to  whom  they  were  applied,  as  he  had  a  dia- 
bolic genius  for  making  a  close  fit.  Apparently  he 
was  almost  destitute  of  a  moral  sense  or  a  feeling  of 
responsibility;  the  world  with  everything  in  it  was 
created  specially  to  develop  his  talent  for  sarcasm. 
He  had  reached  that  astonishing-  period  of  precocity, 
at  which  boys  seem  to  know  more  than  ever  afterwards. 
They  attain  their  limit  of  growth  in  boyhood,  and  as 
men  they  still  remain  mere  juvenile  satirists,  drench- 
ing their  friends  and  chiefly  themselves  in  their  own 
gall.  The  dangerous  gift  of  youthful  sarcasm  stunts 
the  soul  forever,  cramping  it  into  the  narrow  bounds 
of  its  own  egotistic  sparkle,  and  leaving  it  supremely 
dissatisfied  with  everything  else.  It  is  surprising  to 
see  how  very  knowing  a  youth  may  be,  and  how  very 


UNDER   THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  43 

little  he  may  know.  Still  for  certain  minds  Dick 
Turnover  was  a  good  stimulant ;  he  could  also  be  a 
useful  represser. 

One  of  these  minds  was  the  aforesaid  Peter,  who 
needed  a  curb  for  his  tendency  to  revery  and  senti- 
ment. He  had  not  a  strong  individuality,  yet  a  decided 
gift  for  acquiring  knowledge.  He  took  color  from  his 
surroundings,  from  the  last  thing  he  had  heard,  from 
the  last  book  he  had  read.  At  school  he  would 
study,  since  that  was  the  atmosphere  ;  for  this  reason 
he  was  called  Peter  the  Pounder  by  the  nicknamer 
Dick.  But  he,  in  the  presence  of  Dick,  would  give  a 
response  to  the  character  of  the  latter  by  an  alter- 
ation of  his  own ;  he  was  the  chameleon  that  changed 
to  the  color  of  the  neighboring  leaf.  Dick  had  the 
power,  by  some  sympathy,  of  calling  up  the  sleeping 
demon  of  sarcasm  in  Peter.  Such  were  the  two  lads 
who  were  seen  winding  through  the  bushes  on  their  way 
to  the  Tail  Apple  Tree. 

A  few  moments  after  the  boys  had  left,  the  door- 
bell rang,  and  Miss  Hope  Winslow,  whom  we  have 
learned  to  know  as  the  school-mistress  of  the  village, 
appeared  at  the  same  house  and  asked  the  same  ques- 
tion:  "  Where  is  Harry?  "  Late  last  evening  she  had 
passed  out  the  door  where  she  then  stood,  in  some 
agitation,  for  she  had  just  had  that  speechless  battle 
with  Judge  Allworthy,  but  she  went  home  and  slept 
soundly ;  she  had  not  been  broken  by  the  strain  of 
the  struggle,  but  sustained  and  invigorated,  especially 
after  a  night's  repose.  If  need  be,  she  was  ready  for 
another  battle  in  which  her  tongue  also  might  do 
effective  service. 


44  THE    FREEBUIIGERS. 

She  looked  brisk  and  keen  in  the  morning  air ;  her 
wristbands  and  linen  collar  were  painfully  neat  and 
glossy,  showing  all  the  scrupulosity  of  a  clean  con- 
science ;  her  carefully  preserved  and  somewhat  stiffly  ad- 
justed hat  had  flung  a  red  ribbon  to  the  breeze  for  the  first 
time  in  its  history.  She  had  also  put  on  her  new  sum- 
mer dress,  impeccably  white.  Her  face  had  a  tendency 
to  smile  continually  a  set  smile,  into  which  all  her  feat- 
ures at  times  beame  crystallized,  but  they  could  now 
and  then  be  meltedin  the  glowing  fire  of  her  dark  eyes. 
This  morning,  in  particular,  her  iron  laugh  had  been 
made  fluid,  and  ran  lengthwise  and  crosswise  all  over 
her  countenance,  as  she  asked  Aunt  Polly  the  question : 
' '  Where  is  Harr}'  ?  ' ' 

Aunt  Polly  answered  again:  "He  is  down  yonder 
under  the  Tall  Apple  Tree." 

At  once  the  set  smile  of  Miss  Winslow  began  to 
return,  her  mobile  features  were  suddenly  transpierced 
by  fixed  cold  lines,  like  crystals  of  ice  shooting  through 
freezing  water  ;  in  the  background  of  her  countenance 
lowered  a  cloud  of  disappointment,  which  never  could 
send  a  shower  of  tears,  but  might  spend  itself  in  a 
silent  snow  storm.  A  streak  of  that  cloud  swept 
through  the  cheek,  and  with  gathered  shreds  rolled 
around  into  the  rigid  lips,  which  began  to  move  and 
quiver,  and  at  last  broke  into  utterance:  "  He  prom- 
ised to  be  here  at  this  hour." 

But  Aunt  Polly  turned  to  the  event  of  the  previous 
evening. 

**  How  did  you  enjoy  it?  " 

"Oh,  very  well.  I  do  not  care  much  for  so- 
ciety." 


UNDER    THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  45 

' '  You  had  a  conversation  with  Judge  Allworthy ,  I 
believe." 

"  Yes,  a  short  one,  but  long  enough." 

At  this  answer  Aunt  Polly  was  silent,  thinking  pos- 
sibly that  their  present  talk  too  had  been  long  enough. 
Miss  Winslow  rose,  and  looked  out  of  the  window 
toward  the  garden  ;  she  beheld  in  the  distance  a  large 
tapering  bunch  of  foliage  pointing  skyward,  at  the  sight 
of  which  she,  though  biting  her  lips  in  suppression, 
was  moved  to  say:  ^'That  apple  tree  must  be  for 
Harry  the  tree  of  knowledge." 

Aunt  Polly  archly  replied  :  "  He  certainly  seems  in 
Paradise  when  he  is  lying  under  it  and  gazing  up 
through  its  branches.  Only  he  has  no  Eve  to  reach 
him  the  fruit.  You  had  better  go  down  there  and 
give  him  some  apples  from  your  tree  of  knowledge, 
by  way  of  competition." 

The  school-mistress  at  first  wondered,  then  reddened 
a  little.  It  may  be  here  stated  that  Henry  was  her 
favorite  pupil,  and  had  just  completed  the  highest 
course  in  her  school.  She  had,  in  a  professional  way 
it  must  be  supposed,  become  warmly  interested  in  his 
education,  and  her  call  to-day  was  ostensibly  to  give 
him  a  little  additional  instruction.  But  her  woman's 
disguise  had  been  pricked  somewhat  by  a  woman,  who 
always  takes  delight  in  holding  up  the  mirror  before 
her  sister.  Still  the  feminine  wit  of  Miss  Winslow 
soon  rallied,  and  she  threw  a  new  cover  over  her 
thoughts  in  these  words:  *'  It  is  well  that  he  has  no 
Eve  in  his  Eden,  then  there  can  be  no  serpent  back  of 
the  woman." 

Aunt  Polly,  though  a  firm  believer  in  Scripture,  was 


46  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

inclined  to  resent  this  insult  put  upon  her  sex,  the  in- 
sult of  bringing  the  first  woman  and  the  Evil  One  into 
such  close  intimacy.  She  had  another  interpretation 
which  she  was  about  to  set  forth,  when  Miss  Winslow 
deftly  turned  the  talk  from  biblical  to  culinary  mat- 
ters, of  which  Aunt  Polly  was  the  authoritative  ex- 
pounder in  Freeburg.  From  the  primeval  Garden 
they  easily  passed  to  horticultural  products  in  gen- 
eral, and  discussed  preserved  fruits ;  then  they  veered 
over  to  pickles,  with  which  sour  articles  the  conversa- 
tion was  brought  to  a  happy  conclusion.  Miss  Wins- 
low,  in  her  most  inflexible  smile,  excused  herself  for 
lack  of  time  and  withdrew. 

It  was  noticed  that  she  did  not  go  down  to  the 
paradisiacal  apple  tree,  though  she  seemed  to  cast  a 
glance  that  way  and  to  think  for  a  moment.  But  she 
went  into  the  street  and  afterwards  turned  up  the  side- 
walk which  led  to  the  school-house,  where  she  was  the 
queen,  and  where  nobody  dared  make  a  joke  at  her 
expense.  Moreover  the  school-house  had  a  very  good 
view  of  the  apple  tree. 

11. 

Meanwhile  the  two  lads  had  reached  just  this  last 
point ;  it  was  the  point  in  which  the  somewhat  wavy 
line  of  their  path  ended.  "We  may  truthfully  call  it 
one  of  the  three  centers  of  the  village ;  everybody 
knew  it,  and  familiarly,  even  affectionately,  named  it 
the  Tall  Apple  Tree.  The  Public  Square,  with  which 
we  have  become  acquainted  in  our  former  chapter, 
was  another  center,  very  different ;  it  was  the  place  of 


UNDER   THE    TALL    APPLE   TREE.  47 

loud  meetings,  celebrations,  speeches ;  the  place  where 
the  open,  noisy,  conscious  life  of  the  community  flowed 
together  in  a  common  current  and  found  expression. 
Around  it  were  clustered  the  stores  and  places  of 
business,  before  which  the  teams  of  the  farmers  were 
hitched,  who  bad  come  to  town  to  trade.  It  culminated 
in  the  court-house,  the  home  of  justice,  which  stood  in 
the  middle  of  it,  and  overshadowed  the  platform  for 
public  speaking  not  far  away.  The  Public  Square  be- 
longed to  all,  yet  to  none  individually ;  still,  every  citi- 
zen, once  having  taken  position  upon  it,  felt  himself  in 
his  own  house,  while  living  the  life  of  the  whole  body 
politic.  But  no  man  could  abuse  it  —  could  break  the 
shrubbery,  injure  the  trees,  or  deface  the  buildings. 
It  was  no  place  for  capricious  conduct  of  any  kind  ;  no 
personal  ownership  ruled  over  it  arbitrarily,  yet  all 
men  beheld  it  as  their  own.  Institutions  seemed  to 
gather  here  ;  the  people  thought  here  ;  it  was  the  dwell- 
ing place  of  the  social  spirit — that  unseen  structure 
which  every  community  must  rear  in  one  form  or 
other. 

In  striking  contrast  to  the  Public  Square  with  its 
court-house  stood  the  Tall  Apple  Tree  with  its  some- 
what lonely  environment.  Round  it  another  spell 
prevailed ;  the  dark,  silent,  unconscious  life  of  the 
village  seemed  to  hover  there  with  a  presence  felt  but 
not  heard.  No  road  led  to  the  spot,  though  at  times 
it  was  a  resort  for  young  and  old,  and  wrought  with 
some  secret  fascination  upon  all.  The  tree  had  a 
peculiar  growth,  somewhat  different  from  other  trees 
of  the  same  kind  ;  its  contour  was  not  bushy,  but  erect 
and  lofty ;  not  like  a  ball,  but  like  a  pyramidal  cone 


48  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

struggling  mightily  upwards  till  its  leafy  strength  ran 
out  to  a  point  in  its  effort  to  touch  the  skies.  Still, 
its  branches  seemed  to  reach  forth  a  protecting  hand, 
and  to  offer  choice  fruit  to  the  wayfarer.  If  it  had  a 
look  of  self-centering  pride,  it  also  inspired  the 
thought  of  a  self-outpouring  benevolence.  The  chil- 
dren of  the  village  grew  up  under  it,  the  oldest  and 
most  important  houses  appeared  to  cluster  round  it,  as 
if  they  might  be,  in  some  dim  way,  its  offspring.  Yet 
the  houses  faced  the  public  thoroughfare  ;  their  back 
yards  and  rear  windows,  with  garden  and  stable,  were 
turned  in  privacy  toward  the  Tall  Apple  Tree,  which 
stood  in  the  middle  of  a  field  on  a  little  knoll,  at  whose 
foot  rippled  a  brook.  The  inhabitants  looked  upon  it 
with  a  certain  degree  of  reverence  ;  it  was  the  primitive 
giver  of  food  and  shelter  unto  the  sons  of  men,  the 
early  revealer  of  a  providential  care.  If,  in  remote 
ages,  there  was,  as  some  afllrm,  a  tree-worship,  the 
hidden  stream  of  veneration  had  flowed  down  from  its 
fountain-head  under  the  surface  of  Time,  and  had  risen 
again  to  sunlight  in  this  village.  The  tree  was,  indeed, 
the  patriarch  of  the  community,  older  than  the  oldest 
house  ;  nobody  knew  the  period  when  it  was  not  stand- 
ing upon  its  present  site,  or  when  it  did  not  bear  fruit. 
But  to  the  Tall  Apple  Tree  there  was  a  rival, 
whose  presence,  though  not  so  important,  can  not  be 
passed  over  in  silence.  Not  far  away  stood  a  savage 
branch  of  the  same  family,  a  crab  tree,  some  of  whose 
limbs  reached  down  and  pattered  in  the  brook.  Its 
outline  was  round,  but  flattened  at  the  top,  as  if  it  had 
already  grown  too  high,  and  had  turned  its  head  down 
toward  the  earth.     Its  twigs  and  branches    were  so 


UNDER    THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  49 

closely  interwoven,  and  so  stiff  and  stubby,  that  they 
would  prick  and  scratch  any  human  hand  that  sought 
to  reach  into  its  leafy  house.  It  iippeared  to  forbid, 
and,  in  fact,  resented  any  communion  with  man.  To  be 
sure  it  kept  off  wind,  sun  and  rain,  if  one  would  creep 
under  the  branches  that  thrust  themselves  down 
toward  the  ground,  and  if  one  would  stoop  low  enough 
to  keep  out  of  a  conflict  with  its  spiteful  claws.  This 
was,  however,  no  easy  matter ;  there  seemed  to  be  an 
untamed  tiger,  ready  to  scratch  and  bite,  couched  in 
the  tree  ;  the  result  was,  no  men  sat  in  its  shade  for  re- 
pose, no  children  gathered  under  its  roof  of  leaves  for 
play ;  only  now  and  then  a  wild  boy  would  dare  enter 
its  thorny  den,  but  would  soon  come  out  with  clothing 
torn  and  flesh  bleeding.  Though  the  two  relatives,  the 
civilized  and  uncivilized,  grew  from  the  same  soil,  and 
stood  almost  side  by  side,  their  difference  in  character 
seemed  to  be  as  great  as  the  difference  between  the 
animal  and  man.  Whence  did  it  come?  Their  kin- 
ship, however,  was  not  to  be  set  aside,  indeed  it  could 
be  seen  at  a  glance.  It  must  be  confessed,  too,  that 
the  wild  tree,  when  in  bloom,  gave  forth  the  sweeter 
fragrance,  and  for  a  few  days  in  spring  filled  the  air 
of  the  whole  neighborhood  with  its  delicious  aroma. 
But  the  flower  lasted  not  long,  and  the  fruit  was  al- 
most worthless.  Its  small,  round,  savage  apple,  in- 
tensely acrid,  smote  the  civilized  taste  with  an  Indian's 
tomahawk,  and  could  only  be  used  after  being  tamed 
by  some  process  known  to  civilization. 

The  origin  of  both  trees  ran  back  into  darkness,  as 
origins  generally  do.  It  was  manifest,  however, 
that  the  one  had  centuries  of  culture  behind  it,  the 

4 


50  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

othei'  none  at  all ;  the  one  had  followed  and  developed 

along  with  man  as  companion  and  helper,  the  other 
had  stayed  down  with  the  animals  and  fought  them  for 
life.  It  was  also  manifest  that  some  human  means  must 
have  been  employed  to  bring  the  one  to  its  present  lo- 
cation ;  the  other  was  a  native  of  the  woods  and  needed 
no  transplanting  hand. 

The  Tall  Apple  Tree  was  the  sole  antiquity  of  the 
village,  where  Time  had  as  yet  dropped  none  of  his 
spiritual  mementos ;  it  rose  out  of  the  past  a  single 
flash  shooting  rearward  into  thick  night.  It  became 
thus  the  mystery  of  the  place,  upon  which  the  villagers 
stretched  their  souls  quite  back  to  the  orignal  apple- 
tree  in  the  first  Garden.  What  providing  spirit  had 
wandered  hither  before  them  and  planted  it  just  for 
their  behoof?  But  its  origin  did  not  trouble  many 
people  ;  they  enjoyed  its  shade,  they  plucked  its  fruits 
and  went  their  way,  like  most  cf  the  children  of  Adam. 
They  never  saw  the  hand  reaching  to  them  out  of  the 
dark  with  these  gifts,  never  beheld  the  body  to  which 
this  hand  belonged,  never  looked  upon  the  face  which 
crowned  this  body. 

To  these  objects  in  the  landscape,  we  must  add 
another  which  towered  up  not  far  away  and  per- 
sisted in  being  seen  for  miles  around.  This  was  the 
School-house,  a  plain  but  commodious  building,  in 
which  Miss  Hope  Winslow  was  the  controlling  spirit. 
It  may  with  justice  be  called  the  third  center  of  the 
village ;  or,  more  properly,  the  third  corner  in  the  tri- 
angle made  by  the  Tall  Apple  Tree  and  the  Public 
Square.  The  three  objects  seemed  to  stand  in  a  cer- 
tain  close  connection  with  one  another,  faintly  sug- 


UNDER  THE  TALL  APPLE  TREE.       51 

gested  by  their  mathematical  relation ;  they  belonged 
together  and  formed  not  only  one  spatial  figure,  but  one 
spiritual  fact  of  the  town.  If  either  had  been  taken 
away,  the  rest  would  have  been  different,  and  Freeburg 
would  have  had  another  kind  of  life. 

The  School-house  was  a  plant  of  civilization,  and  it 
was  well  authenticated  who  set  out  the  plant.  Here 
the  Unknown  entered  not,  but  was  driven  awaj'  with 
the  pedagogical  birch,  if  necessary.  The  School-house 
was  the  realm  of  the  Known  ;  the  very  sight  of  it  sug- 
gested its  character.  It  was  built  on  a  little  hillock, 
was  tliree  stories  high,  and  overlooked  the  entire  vil- 
lage, standing  squarely  on  its  base  and  turned  to  the 
four  points  of  the  compass.  A  striking  fact  about  it 
was  that  it  was  full  of  windows,  which  made  it  light 
within,  and  gave  it  the  appearance  of  light  without. 
As  it  rose  up  over  its  hillock,  it  seemed  to  be  all  eyes, 
especially  when  the  sun  shone  brilliantly  upon  it,  and 
transformed  each  window-pane  into  a  blaze  of  illum- 
ination. On  every  side  it  was  open ;  not  a  brick  of  it 
remained  hidden  by  any  intervening  object ;  onl}^  a 
small  veranda  modestly  suggested  that  there  was  an 
entrance  to  the  building  for  any  diligent  seeker. 

These  three  centers  will  occur  often  in  the  course  of 
our  narrative,  since  around  them  most  of  the  people 
as  well  as  most  of  the  events  of  Freeburg  naturally 
group  themselves. 

III. 

The  two  lads  had  slipped  up  to  Henry  without  being 
noticed ;  he  was  sitting  under  the  tree  in  a  steady 
gaze  upward,  fully  occupied  with  his  own  thoughts. 


52  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

The  elder  of  the  two,  Peter,  touched  him  on  the  shoul- 
der and  called  him  back  from  dreamland  with  the 
question:  "What  about  the  lesson  you  promised  to 
explain  to  me?^" 

Henry  felt  the  heavy  drop  to  earth,  and  was  waked 
up  unpleasantly.  He  answered:  "  O  yes,  I  remem- 
ber. But  there  is  no  hurry.  I  cannot  bring  myself 
to  it  now,  something  else  has  hold  of  me." 

The  elder  of  the  youths  again  asked  him,  "  What 
do  you  see  where  you  are  looking?  '* 

*' Oh,  nothing." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  see." 

"But,"  said  Henry,  "I  am  looking  for  something 
and  cannot  find  it?" 

"  What  is  it?" 

''  When  I  have  found  it,  I  hope  to  be  able  to  tell 
you;  that  will  be  my  best  lesson." 

The  younger  of  the  two  lads  now  started  with  his 
question  to  Henry:  "  What  makes  you  so  fond  of  this 
old  apple  tree?  " 

"  Because  it  bears  good  fruit." 

"But  there  are  others  just  like  it,  whole  orchards 
of  them  here  in  town,  that  were  grafted  from  this  very 
tree." 

"  Still  they  are  not  like  it." 

"  I  cannot  see  the  difference." 

"  Let  me  then  tell  it  to  you.  This  tree  has  a  secret 
which  none  of  its  descendants  have ;  nobody  knows 
when  it  was  put  here,  or  by  whom  it  was  planted." 

"  But  the  apples  taste  just  the  same  for  all  that." 

Henry  looked  at  the  keen  youth,  he  was  a  little 
puzzled  by  the  smart  retort.     Soon  he  replied:   "  The 


UNDER    THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  53 

tree  bears  for  my  eajoyment  other  fruit  besides 
apples." 

Tlie  boy  laughed  with  a  skeptical  scorn  not  un- 
common at  his  age,  and  said:  "Let  us  have  some  of 
that  fruit  by  all  means,  I  would  like  to  bite  into  it." 

Henry  was  somewhat  untuned  by  the  scoffing  ur- 
chin, and  became  silent.  Perhaps  the  sneer  of  youth 
is  the  most  inharmonious  of  all  sneers,  since  we  nat- 
urally expect  that  period  of  life  to  make  a  little  music 
of  its  own.  The  elder  of  the  two  lads,  who  was  also 
the  more  gentle,  took  up  the  conversation  again,  and 
urged  Henry  in  a  friendly  way:  "Tell  us  what  you 
find  in  this  spot ;  you  are  here  so  often.  I  confess 
that  I  too  am  attached  to  the  old  tree,  but  I  do  not 
know  the  reason." 

"This  tree,"  said  Henry,  "is  connected  in  my 
mind  always  with  my  grandfather,  who  died  a  good 
while  ago,  and  who  used  to  take  me  on  his  knee  and 
tell  me  stories  of  early  times.  He  was  already  old 
when  he  came  to  this  part  of  the  country,  the  present 
spot  was  his  favorite  haunt,  and  through  all  my  rec- 
ollections of  the  good,  white-haired  man  these  green 
branches  are  shooting.  He  was  one  of  the  early  set- 
tlers of  the  West,  and  he  said  that  this  tree  stood  here 
when  the  first  wagon  stopped  on  the  site  of  Freeburg, 
and  that  his  wagon  was  the  first.  All  around  us 
where  houses  and  gardens  now  are,  then  a  forest 
stood,  whose  only  inhabitant  was  the  Indian." 

At  the  mention  of  the  Indian,  the  two  lads  began 
to  show  greater  interest,  and  with  wide-opened  eyes 
awaited  the  rest  of  the  story.     Henry  continued :  — 

"  He  stopped  along  side  of  yonder  brook  for  water — 


54  THE    FREEBUKGERS. 

he  often  pointed  out  to  me  the  exact  spot  and  struck 
it  with  his  cane  —  when  he,  as  well  as  those  with  him, 
flung  themselves,  after  taking  a  drink,  upon  the  ground, 
worn  out  with  hunger  and  exhaustion.  The  other 
wagon,  with  its  small  store  of  meal  and  bacon,  had 
"become  separated  from  them  and  lost  the  way.  For 
two  days  they  had  little  or  nothing  to  eat,  and  the 
pangs  of  starvation,  coupled  with  anxiety  and  terror 
in  the  savage  woods,  made  life  no  longer  worth  sav- 
ing.'' 

The  younger  lad,  Dick,  jumped  up  at  this  point  and 
danced  in  glee,  saying:  "I  would  like  to  have  been 
an  Indian  then,  to  settle  the  old  grudge  between  the 
white  man  and  the  red  man." 

The  lad  threw  down  his  book  upon  the  ground  with 
an  Indian's  contempt  of  letters.  He  could  learn  easily, 
but  would  not  try ;  he  knew  enough  already.  He  was 
one  of  Miss  Winslow's  unregenerate  pupils ;  particu- 
larly his  moral  nature  she  had  failed  to  unfold,  pos- 
sibly because  there  was  no  germ.  She  had  actually 
made  him  worse  by  her  moralizing,  as  it  had  prodig- 
iously developed  his  talent  for  sarcasm.  After  es- 
caping from  her  lecture,  the  young  barbarian  would 
tomahawk  her  with  his  tongue,  and  dance  a  defiant 
war-dance  among  his  mates.  But  the  elder  lad  now 
interrupted  with  a  milder  question  of  the  same  kind : 
"How  did  it  happen  that  the  Indians  did  not  find 
them  and  scalp  them  all  before  help  came." 

Henry  went  on:  "They  did  indeed  fear  it.  But 
my  grandfather,  looking  around  and  thinking  what  he 
should  do,  noticed  a  bare  spot  in  the  dense  forest 
where  the  sun  seemed  to  shine  in  without  hinderance 


UNDER   THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  55 

from  leaves  and  limbs.  He  crawled  up  this  little  hill, 
and  on  the  top  of  it  found  a  clear  space,  in  the  center 
of  which  was  an  old  decayed  brush  heap.  Through  the 
brush  heap  a  hardy  sapling  was  growing ;  it  was  this 
very  apple  tree,  filled  with  quite  a  crop  of  fruit,  prob- 
ably its  first  yield  of  any  importance." 

"Then  he  helped  himself,"  said  Dick  Turnover, 
with  an  audible  smack  of  the  lips. 

"Yes,  he  did,"  replied  Henry;  "but  there  was 
enough  to  satisfy  the  hunger  of  all,  and  give  strength  to 
find  some  wild  berries  and  roots.  They  also  could  keep 
watch  for  the  other  wagon,  which  finally  came  along. 
Thus  our  family  was  probably  saved  by  this  tree,  and 
the  town  of  Freeburg  started  from  it.  My  grand- 
father resolved  to  stay  and  live  just  on  this  spot 
where  his  deliverance  took  place ;  the  tree  always 
seemed  to  him  a  bright  angel  in  the  gloomy  woods, 
reaching  forth  help.  It  somehow  appears  to  me  so 
still ;  just  look  up  at  its  extended  arms  and  smiling 
face." 

The  youths  gazed  at  the  limbs  with  some  shyness 
lest  they  might  behold  an  angel  there  in  fact.  None, 
however,  appeared  to  their  eyes ;  but  a  certain  look  of 
benevolence  did  seem  to  come  from  the  branches, 
and  began  to  attune  even  the  younger  lad  to  a  new 
mood. 

Henry  felt  their  harmony  with  himself  and  went  on : 
"  My  grandfather  had  in  him  the  strongest  desire  to 
know  how  the  tree  came  to  be  in  this  place.  He  would 
speculate  upon  the  question  for  hours  at  a  time,  as  I 
have  heard  Aunt  Polly  tell ;  but  he  never  found  out 
whether  accident  or  design  was  the   moving  principle. 


56  THE    FREEBURGERS 

Still  be  had  a  strong  conviction  that  some  benevolent 
hand  planted  it  in  hope,  and  imparted  to  it  the  charac- 
ter which  it  seems  to  have  at  present.  He  left  yonder 
crab-tree  standing,  from  some  dim  feeling  that  it 
should  be  spared  in  all  its  savagery,  and  possibly 
grafted  and  improved." 

The  younger  lad  broke  in  :  "By  no  means  ;  let  it  be 
as  it  is,  I  like  it,  I  would  rather  lie  under  it  than  here," 
and  he  started  for  the  more  congenial  spot.  The 
elder  and  milder  youth  remained,  and  asked  Henry  to 
go  on  with  his  story. 

"I  confess  I  have  inherited  my  grandfather's  desire 
of  finding  out  the  origin  of  this  tree.  It  has  become 
a  wonder  in  my  eyes,  and  passes  out  of  realit}^  into  the 
land  of  the  imagination.  I  trace  it  back  to  a  certain 
limit,  where  knowledge  ceases  and  the  unknown  be- 
gins. How  that  limit  vexes  me!  I  chafe  against  it, 
push  it,  shake  it  as  a  confined  wild  animal  does  the 
bars  of  his  cage ;  it  seems  to  put  a  bound  to  all  I  can 
know  or  can  be.  I  would  break  over  it  and  get  out ; 
as  long  as  it  lasts,  I  am  not  free.'* 

The  youth  arose  and  walked  around  in  excitement ; 
his  vehement  outburst  astonished  his  companion,  who 
sought  to  soothe  him  with  a  few  words  of  hope.  But 
he  was  swept  on  in  the  current  of  his  feelings  and  ex- 
claimed :  — 

"  I  would  study  books,  consult  the  stars,  travel  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth  to  burst  my  prison  of  ignorance, 
which  is  here  inside  of  this  little  head.  Look  up: 
what  brought  the  first  seed  of  this  fine  growth  of 
limbs  and  leaves  and  fruit;  who  planted  it?  Nobody 
can  tell ;  it  is  so  with  all  things.     See  the  open  sky, 


UNDER   THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  57 

survey  the  wide  world,  boundless  on  all  sides  ;  but  I  am 
locked  up  in  my  narrow  cell. 

"Show  me  my  guilt,  O  thou  Supreme  Sovereign 
above  sun  and  stars,  tell  me  what  I  have  done  that  I 
should  be  thus  imprisoned  in  my  own  little  brain- 
pan." 

We  believe  that  the  youth,  Henry  Firestone,  was  in 
no  wise  peculiar  in  this  feeling  of  being  closely  con- 
fined within  the  Universe.  The  child  has  something 
of  the  sort,  has  this  propulsion  out  of  its  surround- 
ings into  the  Beyond.  The  boj^  shows  it  usually  more 
than  the  grown  man,  who  learns  to  limit  himself. 
But  youth  sails  over  all  boundaries  into  the  Infinite, 
and  has  to  come  back  empty  into  the  old  jail ;  from 
which  fact  springs  the  world-pain  so  afflicting  to  many 
young  folks.  They  belong  outside  of  their  prison, 
yet  are  inside ;  what  can  they  do  but  thump  the  walls 
and  lugubriously  rattle  their  chains? 

The  same  tendency  shows  itself  in  the  use  of  lan- 
guage. The  youth  not  only  grapples  with  the  prob- 
lems of  the  philosopher,  but  he  uses  phrases  and 
sentences  that  bristle  with  the  stiff  and  serried 
nomenclature  of  philosophy,  often  startling  to  older 
ears.  How  he  delights  in  great  words  that  overtop 
him  just  a  little !  He  reaches  out  for  a  speech  beyond 
his  years,  beyond  his  distinct  conception  of  its  mean- 
ing ;  he  feels  penned  up  in  the  bounds  of  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  dictionary,  and  makes  a  bold  dash  for 
freedom. 

Henry  Firestone,  in  his  high-wrought  feeling,  spoke 
words  and  thought  thoughts  which  seemed  to  belong 
to  a  middle-aged  man.     His  companion,  the  friendly 


58  THE    FREEBURGEKS. 

Peter,  stood  and  looked  at  him  in  utter  surprise,  but 
soon  rallied  to  offer  some  more  consolation.  But  at 
once  the  consoler  received  the  passionate  response: 
"I  never  expect  any  release,  I  am  fastened  in  my  own 
ignorance  forever.  I  cannot  even  go  awa}'  to  complete 
my  education,  and  push  the  horizon  of  my  being  a 
little  beyond  this  petty  village  of  Freeburg.  Would 
that  I  were  far  from  here,  if  only  to  taste  the  delight 
of  being  delivered  from  one  spot  on  the  face  of  this 
broad  earth." 

It  was  a  deep  chord  that  thrilled  in  complaint,  for 
Henry  longed  to  break  out  of  the  dull  round  of  village 
life,  and  go  to  college ;  but  he  was  opposed  by  his 
father.  Still,  in  the  present  case,  too,  his  companion 
knew  how  to  administer  solace,  saying:  "But  you 
know  that  Aunt  Polly  has  promised  to  send  you  away 
to  school." 

The  passionate  youth  replied:  "I  never  expect  it, 
I  never  expect  it." 

Still  in  his  better  moments  he  did  expect  it,  and 
he  showed  a  weakening  in  his  second  denial.  His 
companion  felt  the  change,  and  said  with  a  jesting 
smile,  which  was  intended  to  throw  sunlight  through 
Henry's  cloud  of  despondency:  "  Yes,  that  will  come. 
And  you  will  find  out  who  planted  your  grandfather's 
apple  tree." 

Henry  answered:  "  I  do  not  expect  it,  I  do  not  ex- 
pect it." 

But  this  repetition  also  grew  weaker.  He  went  on 
with  less  vehemence:  "That  secret  was  probably 
buried  before  him  in  the  grave  ;  perhaps  it  is  wandering 
this  moment  up  and  down  the  earth  like  a  ghost." 


UNDER   THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  59 

His  companion  replied  quickly:  "  That  ghost  may 
return  and  speak  to  you." 

Henry  looked  at  him  puzzled,  nay,  startled  ;  the 
thought  cut  through  him  till  he  shivered.  Not  that 
he  was  afraid  of  ghosts,  but  Peter's  remark  was  one  of 
those  casual  utterances  which,  without  any  knowledge 
or  intention  on  the  part  of  the  speaker,  break  open  the 
hearer's  inmost  spirit,  and  give  it  a  spectral  glimpse 
of  what  is  about  to  transpire.  The  shadow  dashed 
tremulously  across  Henry's  soul,  then  fled  with  the 
certainty  of  appearing  again,  possibly  in  new  form. 

The  youth  soon  rallied  and  said:  "Well,  you 
have  given  me  a  lesson  to-day,  though  you  came  to 
have  one  from  me.  Produce  your  book,  and  we  shall 
begin  to  do  what  you  intended." 

Both  sat  down  under  the  roof  of  foliage  with  a  sense 
of  relief,  and  began  to  turn  to  the  printed  page  for 
their  light.  But  the  lesson  was  dull ;  calm  study  found 
no  response  in  their  spirits  still  palpitating  to  the 
echoes  of  their  conversation.  Their  thou^jhts  were 
elsewhere ;  both  looked  around  and  upward,  their 
aroused  vision  could  not  be  fixed  upon  the  cold,  leaden 
letters.     At  last  both  let  fall  the  book. 

IV. 

For  some  moments  a  figure  had  been  observed  slip- 
ping carefully  along  one  of  the  by-paths  that  led 
through  a  private  yard  into  the  open  field.  It  would 
stop  every  few  paces,  and  gaze  around,  as  if  seeking 
some  object  which  might  be  identified  as  a  familiar  but 
long-absent  friend.     It  was  soon  seen  to   be  a  man  in 


60  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

an  unusual  costume,  an  old  man  with  a  long  white 
beard  which  gently  yielded  to  the  playful  breezes,  and 
with  a  stout  staff  which  supported  a  bundle.  His 
step  was  still  light  and  firm  ;  he  descended  into  the 
little  valley  through  which  the  brook  ran,  and  started 
to  follow  its  course.  When  he  came  to  the  crab- tree 
which  stood  on  its  border,  he  paused  and  glanced  at 
it  with  a  strange  look  of  joy ;  the  aged  furrows  on  his 
face  broke  into  smiles,  and  he  seemed  to  nod  to  that 
stiff  ball  of  brushwood,  as  if  in  token  of  recognition. 
After  the  first  flash  of  delight,  he  turned  away  from 
it ;  and  when  he  saw  the  lad  under  it,  his  smile  drop- 
ped out  of  his  look  altogether. 

Henry  watched  the  occurrence  with  a  peculiar  feel- 
ing ;  he  was  certain  that  the  old  man  was  seeking  just 
that  spot  of  earth  where  he  then  stood,  and  would 
come  to  it  straightway.  There  is  some  sympathy  which 
tells  such  things  in  advance,  if  it  does  not  force  them 
to  happen.  Sure  enough,  the  old  man  cast  up  his  eyes, 
beheld  the  Tall  Apple  Tree,  and  started  to  climb  the 
little  knoll;  his  first  joy  not  only  returned,  but  seemed 
to  increase,  as  he  drew  nearer.  He  gave  a  friendly 
salute  to  the  two  3^ouths ;  Henry,  lost  in  the  strange- 
ness of  his  revery,  did  not  speak  first,  but  his  compan- 
ion said :  — 

"  You  are  a  stranger  in  these  parts,  I  judge." 

*' Yes,  there  is  much  here  that  is  new,"  and  he  cast 
a  glance  over  the  field  to  the  surrounding  gardens  and 
houses  of  the  village.     Then  he  continued :  — 

*'  Still,  wherever  I  go,  I  find  myself  walking  in 
the  same  paths,  thinking  the  same  thoughts,  do- 
ing  the   same   things  over   again  which  I  once  did, 


UNDER    THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  61 

and  I  may  add,  loving  the  same  objects  with  the  same 
love." 

The  youths,  however,  showed  their  greatest  amaze- 
ment at  the  appearance  of  the  man,  the  like  of  whom 
they  had  never  seen  before.  Long,  but  not  dishevelled 
locks  fell  down  to  his  shoulders,  and,  with  his  beard, 
formed  a  wreath  of,purest  white,  out  of  which  peeped 
an  aged,  benevolent  countenance.  His  eyes  were 
sunken,  but  glanced  keen  fire  out  of  their  caves,  indi- 
cating the  live  spirit  within  ;  but  in  their  glow  was  a 
kind  look  for  every  terrestrial  object.  The  lines  in 
his  features  were  very  delicate ;  in  particular,  he  had  a 
fine  nose,  somewhat  overarching  at  the  point.  A  slight 
stoop  of  the  shoulders  seemed  to  spring  more  from  a 
habit  of  reverence  than  from  an}'-  natural  curvature. 
His  garments  were  plain,  but  tidy ;  his  shoes  showed 
travel,  and  had  bright,  big-headed  hob-nails  in  the 
soles,  which  glistened  in  two  rows  as  he  sat  down  un- 
der the  tree  and  extended  his  legs.  His  hat  alone  in- 
dicated a  little  caprice  of  taste,  having  a  slouch  in  it 
not  given  originally  by  the  hatter.  When  the  old  man 
had  adjusted  himself  on  the  ground  against  the  trunk 
of  the  tree,  with  a  look  of  thankfulness  he  turned  his 
eyes  upward  to  the  green  branches,  as  if  to  see  into 
them  and  bej^ond  them  ;  every  line  of  his  face  breathed 
harmony  with  himself,  with  the  world,  and  with  what 
is  above  the  world. 

Young  Henry  Firestone  began  at  once  to  feel  the  se- 
cret influence  of  the  old  man.  A  gentle  attunement  of 
his  perturbed  spirit  was  taking  place,  as  he  looked 
upon  that  melodious  countenance,  seamed  with  strug- 
gle, yet  full  of  repose.     A  harmony  stole  over  him ; 


62  THE   FREEBUKGERS. 

the  jangled  chords  of  his  soul  started  to  adjust  them- 
selves to  the  new  key-note,  and  even  to  play  once  more 
in  tune,  touched  by  some  tender,  invisible  hand. 

But  the  most  noteworthy  article  of  the  stranger's 
equipment  remains  to  be  mentioned :  it  was  a  musical 
instrument,  an  old  fiddle,  somewhat  larger  than  the 
usual  size,  which  he  played  on  in  several  ways.  He 
would  thrum  it,  or  pick  it,  like  a  guitar;  he  would 
place  it  between  his  knees  like  a  violoncello,  and  draw 
the  bow  upon  its  strings ;  finally,  he  would  put  it 
against  his  shoulder  and  play  it  like  the  ordinary  violin. 
He  carried  it  in  a  bag  slung  across  his  back,  where  was 
a  general  receptacle  for  his  superfluous  gear. 

Without  any  invitation  he  took  it  from  its  cover,  as 
if  he  felt  a  call  to  utter  some  musical  emotion  ;  he 
keyed  it  up  and  tuned  it  with  skill  and  speed ;  then  he 
drew  his  first  bow  with  a  smile  which  had  the  effect  of 
making  his  inner  harmony  visible.  The  truth  is,  his 
face  made  more  music  than  his  instrument.  His  notes 
wandered  up  ^nd  down  the  scale  as  if  in  search  of  some 
melody  which  had  not  yet  arrived. 

Henry  caught  its  spirit  and  spake:  "Old  man, 
sing." 

"Gladly,"  says  he.  "  I  am  never  satisfied  with 
the  mere  vibration  of  strings ;  they  are  to  suggest  and 
to  support  song.  The  whole  body  must  be  made  an 
instrument  and  thrill  to  the  key-note  given  by  the 
soul.  The  true  singer,  before  he  can  sing  worthily, 
must  himself  be  made  over  into  a  song." 

With  these  words  his  voice  began  to  vibrate,  and 
quite  involuntarily  fell  into  the  melodious  waves  which 
rose  out  of  the  strings ;  he  leaned  his  head  over  and 


UNDER    THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  63 

brought  his  ear  close  to  the  resonant  shell  of  wood, 
listening  apparently  to  some  faint,  far-off  internal 
tones,  scarcely  audible,  perhaps,  to  an  outsider. 
Again  and  again  he  drew  his  bow,  caressed  his  fiddle, 
and  hummed  in  concert  wordless  snatches  of  melody. 
More  and  more  the  undulations  of  pure  sound  began  to 
coalesce,  and  gradually  become  articulated  syllables ; 
thus  a  song  seemed  to  grow  naturally  out  of  music, 
and  to  round  itself  out  into  shape  from  the  fathomless 
sea  of  the  human  heart,  from  whose  unknown  depths 
rises  all  true  song. 

His  voice  was  of  the  finest  texture ;  it  seemed  to 
correspond  to  the  delicate  lines  in  his  face ;  yet  it 
was  old  and  at  times  tremulous.  It  had  strange  un- 
dertones of  darkness,  of  sorrow,  even  of  fate ;  but  it 
always  rose  again  in  a  firm  note  of  mastery.  Once  it 
sank  into  a  loud  demoniac  shrill  of  defiance,  then 
climbed  back,  step  by  step,  on  a  musical  ladder,  up 
to  the  very  heaven  of  reconciliation.  His  delivery  was 
perfect,  yet  witliout  art;  it  was  his  own  life  and  his 
own  soul  singing  through  him  with  a  grace  and  direct- 
ness which  nature  alone  gives.  His  genius  was  born 
anew  every  moment,  and  floated  into  being  on  words 
winged  with  music. 

The  youths  looked  in  wonder  at  the  old  man ;  they 
felt  his  power  and  his  mystery ;  they  wished  to  ask 
some  questions,  but  were  hushed  by  his  strain.  In- 
deed, what  answer  to  any  problem  could  satisf}'  like 
the  present  concord?  True  music  goes  to  the  very 
source  of  doubt,  melts  it  in  the  beginning,  and  makes 
it  flow  down  into  the  harmony  of  the  world.  Inter- 
rogation means  dissonance  of  some  kind  somewhere,  in 


64  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

the  questioner  or  questioned ;  but  the  genuine  song 
answers  the  question  even  before  it  is  asked. 

Yet  in  some  souls  music  seems  to  breed  discord,  and 
to  call  up  the  sleeping  doubt.  It  would  appear  at 
times  to  have  the  quality  of  reacting  against  itself. 
If  the  tune  fall  into  the  ears  of  the  demon,  it  would 
untune  him  by  its  very  virtue.  The  sweet  voice  of 
agreement  must  make  him  disagree,  else  he  would  be 
transformed  and  no  longer  be  a  demon.  The  old 
singer  continued  his  strains,  as  if  he  were  regardless 
of  their  double  power. 

They  were  heard  by  Dick  Turnover  in  his  thorny 
nest  under  the  crab-tree,  and  the  lad  at  once  was 
drawn  back  to  his  companions.  He  slipped  along  in 
quiet,  almost  unseen,  as  they  were  sunk  in  the  strange 
appearance  before  them.  Dick  sat  down  behind  them 
with  a  visible  scoff  on  his  face,  though  for  the  present 
he  said  nothing.  A  momentary  flash  of  awe  paralyzed 
his  sarcastic  tongue,  if  it  did  not  penetrate  his  irrev- 
erent soul. 

The  old  man  always  gazed  into  the  branches  of  the 
tree,  while  he  sang ;  what  he  saw  there  nobody  could 
tell.  We  have  already  noticed  that  Henry  had  this 
habit  too ;  but  the  youth  was  not  able  to  give  any 
special  reason  for  so  doing.  He  and  the  singer  seemed 
to  be  running  into  the  same  secret  channel  of  instinct ; 
there  was  already  some  common  impulse  in  both.  So 
intent  and  persistent  was  the  old  man's  look,  that  both 
boys  shot  a  glance  in  the  same  direction,  but  beheld 
only  limbs  and  leaves.  The  singer,  as  he  continued, 
opened  his  eyes  wider,  and  gazed  with  wonder ;  ap- 
parently he  was  trying  to  see  through  the  leafy  roof 


UNDER    THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  65 

into  the  light  beyond.  Then  he  poured  forth  a  warmer, 
stronger  strain ;  the  boys  peered  again  into  tlie 
branches  as  if  to  find  the  source  of  so  many  sweet 
notes.     But  that  was  hidden. 

There  w^as  joy  in  the  song,  though  wreathed  around 
on  all  sides  with  a  melodious  border  of  mystery ;  still, 
this  mystery  was  by  no  means  dark,  but  radiant  with 
trust.  Strangely,  when  his  meaning  was  quite  plain, 
it  was  hard  to  catch  his  words  rolled  over  and  over  in 
musical  cadences  ;  still  harder  was  it  to  gather  a  com- 
plete sentence.  After  some  time,  however,  speech 
seemed  to  overmaster  music,  and  the  following  verse 
began  to  crystallize  itself   from  the  fluid  harmony :  — 

I  do  not  see  the  hungry  fowl, 

Although  I  scatter  food ; 
The  birds  I  know  will  pick  it  up, 

If  only  it  be  good. 

The  last  line  especially  he  drew  out  into  a  refrain 
of  many  variations,  high,  low,  swift,  slow,  till  they 
seemed  to  embrace  all  of  life's  possibilities.  Finally 
the  words  vanished  into  sounds  again,  and  apparently 
dissolved  into  the  musical  elements  whence  they  had 
sprungo 

The  sound  of  the  music  floated  into  the  garden-house 
of  Mr.  Firestone,  which  stood  not  far  away,  where 
Trolla,  the  little  maiden,  was  busy  with  her  flowers, 
to  which  she  had  the  habit  of  talking  in  a  manner  al- 
together her  own.  She  would  coax,  admonish,  caress, 
even  punish  the  little  buds ;  she  had  arranged  them 
all  in  what  she  called  a  school.  She  conversed  with 
the  flower-spirit,  and  declared  that  every  blossom,  yes, 

5 


66  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

every  leaf,  had  a  language  which  she  could  understand. 
She  would  talk  in  the  garden  during  the  sunny  days,  to 
herself  apparently,  but  she  affirmed  it  was  a  conver- 
sation with  her  floral  friends,  who  were  gathered  at 
a  continuous  festival  from  spring  to  summer,  and 
were  telling  to  her  their  little  secrets. 

But  when  she  heard  the  music  and  song  at  a  short 
distance,  she  ceased  her  prattle  and  listened,  then  she 
left  her  flowers  behind,  crept  through  the  bushes  and 
weeds,  and  crawled  over  the  fence,  hiding  herself  that 
she  might  securely  hear.  It  was  a  new  music,  a  new 
world  for  her  ;  the  flower  language  seemed  to  pass  in- 
to musical  tones,  and,  finally,  into  the  words  of  a  song. 
She  went  closer,  and  couched  in  the  tall  weeds ;  she 
saw  the  little  company  near  at  hand,  and  thought  of 
bursting  out  of  her  hiding-place  suddenly  into  their 
presence,  but  she  noticed  among  them  the  lad  Dick, 
for  whom  she  had  a  strong  dislike,  and  even  terror. 
He  had  made  fun  of  her  often  ;  particularly  he  had 
ridiculed  her  flower-talk  with  burlesque  imitation,  till 
she  abhorred  the  young  scoffer.  She  knew  what  her 
blossoms  said,  and  he  did  not ;  but  he  sneered  at  it 
just  the  same  as  if  he  knew  better  than  she  did.  He 
had  caused  her  the  keenest  pain  by  mocking  what  she 
felt  was  the  deepest  part  of  her  nature.  When  she 
peered  from  her  cover,  and  saw  Dick's  ugly,  red,  sar- 
castic face,  she  crouched  down  into  the  bushes,  and 
listened  with  a  heart  beating  so  loud  that  she  could 
hear  its  thumps  between  her  breaths. 

The  old  man  ceased  singing,  and  hung  his  instru- 
ment on  a  branch  of  the  apple  tree,  where  it  swayed  to 
and  fro  in  the  breeze.    The  youths  watched  his  motions, 


UNDER   THE   TALL   APPLE   TREE.  67 

and  tried  to  divine  what  he  meant ;  their  curiosity 
had  become  intense ;  Henry  in  particular  had  be- 
gun again  to  thrill  with  interrogations.  He  had  an- 
other problem  of  origin  o<n  his  hands ;  in  fact,  many 
strange  questions  were  beating  loud  in  his  brain,  de- 
manding an  answer:  — 

*'  Tell  me  first,"  he  cried,  "  what  has  brought  you 
here,  just  to  this  spot,  to  this  tree?  '* 

The  old  man  replied  :  — 

"  I  go  every  where  and  find  my  own  ;  the  earth  has 
become  my  home,  and  my  children  form  a  line  on 
its  face,    and  I  come  to  visit  them." 

With  this  answer,  he  again  looked  up  at  the  tree, 
took  his  fiddle  and  started  a  little  prelude.  It  was  al- 
most noon,  the  sun  began  to  shine  through  the  leaves 
in  a  few  spots.  The  light  now  drew  the  eye  of  the 
old  man,  drew  also  his  song,  which  floated  through  his 
music  like  shreds  of  sunbeams  over  the  surface  of 
the  ground  on  a  cloudy  day.  His  strain,  in  its  images 
and  thoughts,  hovered  around  the  great  luminary  of 
heaven  as  the  center ;  he  turned  to  it  often  and  ap- 
peared to  adore ;  he  seemed  an  ancient  sun-worshiper 
who  had  slipped  down  through  time  somehow  exempt 
from  death.  These  radiant  fragments  were  a  mood  ; 
the  words  seem  cold  and  heavy  without  the  music  and 
the  man.  One  verse  may  be  given  which  hints  the 
singer's  relation  to  the  celestial  body.  About  thus 
the  lines  ran :  — 

I  move  along  the  sun's  high  course, 

He  lights  me  out  the  skies, 
And  draws  my  path  upon  the  earth, 

I  set  with  him  and  rise. 


68  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

This  little  quatrain  he  ended  without  any  repetitions 
or  veriations  ;  the  thought  of  it  seemed  to  fill  him  with 
an  adoration  in  which  speech  ends.  His  strange 
musical  service  had  closed,  he  rose  to  depart,  but  his 
company  cried  out  that  he  should  remain  and  grant 
them  one  more  song. 

Without  any  hesitation  he  took  his  instrument  and 
plaj^ed  several  musical  phrases,  which  gradually 
dropped  into  an  accompaniment  to  his  words.  He 
again  employed  the  Sun  for  his  image,  but  it  now  had 
to  send  its  light  through  the  storm  and  produce  the 
rainbow,  the  many-colored  arch  of  hope,  which  seems 
to  hold  up  the  very  heavens,  and  to  offer  a  visible 
pathway  over  to  the  Beyond.  Certain  far-off  gleams 
of  this  radiant  vision  he  sought  to  throw  into  his  song, 
of  which  a  fragmentary  echo  may  here  be  given :  — 

From  the  hill-tops  a  rainbow  is  bending, 

It  reaches  far  over  the  sea, 
And  a  song  I  hear  with  the  ending: 

O   Shepherd,  come  over  to  me. 

Before  the  first  line  had  ended,  TroUa  peered  from 
her  cover  in  the  bushes,  and  listened  with  an  Intensity 
of  feeling  which  rose  into  foreboding.  All  the  youths 
had  their  backs  toward  her,  and  so  never  saw  her ;  but 
the  old  singer  caught  a  view  of  her  face,  and  kept  his 
eye  upon  it  during  the  song.  With  the  last  line  of  the 
verse,  she  suddenly  vanished  as  if  in  response  to  its 
call. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  these  lines  were  but  imper- 
fectly understood  by  the  lads  who  were  listening.  But 
the   charm  was   possibly  the  greater  by  virtue  of  the 


UNDER    THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  69 

unknown  tliread  which  ran  darkling  through  the  old 
man's  song.  The  lyric  is  a  pulse  of  the  heart  more 
than  a  thought  of  the  head  ;  the  youths  were  carried 
out  of  their  known  life  and  given  a  breath  of  air  from 
beyond.  Yet  the  singer  had  a  tendency  not  only  to 
the  13^10,  but  also  to  the  apothegm,  which  is  a  matter 
of  thought  more  than  of  feeling.  He  now  dropped 
his  instrument  and  recited  a  few  lines  which  still  kept 
up  his  relation  to  the  luminaries  of  the  sky :  — 

The  earth  borrows  light  from  the  sun 

To  make  its  day  bright ; 
The  earth  borrows  light  from  the  moon 

To  illumine  its  night; 
Earth's  child,  a  light-borrower  be, 
If  ever  thou  wishest  to  see. 


When  he  had  ended,  he  carefully  put  up  his  instru- 
ment, with  several  little  signs  of  endearment.  He  had 
just  risen  to  his  feet,  when  the  village  clock  struck  the 
hour  of  noon.  Again  he  looked  upward  into  the  tree 
with  the  mingled  gaze  of  satisfaction  and  expectancy  ; 
again  the  boys  could  not  help  looking  after  him  in  the 
same  direction.  A  little  rustle,  heard  among  the 
leaves,  caused  them  to  startle  for  a  moment ;  an  apple 
fell  to  the  ground.  It  was  ripe,  the  first  fruit  of  the 
season  ;  it  had  apparently  been  concealed  by  the  foli- 
age on  an  upper  branch,  where  no  boy  could  see  it,  else 
it  had  never  attained  its  present  maturity.  The  old 
man  picked  it  up  as  it  rolled  to  his  feet ;  he  broke  it 
open,  gave  a  morsel  to  each,  and  took  a  bite  himself. 


70  THH   FREE  BURGERS. 

But  be  did  one  thing  which  at  first  created  surprise, 
and  then  merriment.  He  carefully  picked  out  all  the 
seeds  from  the  apple,  not  allowing  one  to  be  lost,  and 
put  them  into  a  little  sack  which  he  drew  from  a  safe 
place  underneath  the  lining  of  his  coat.  He  showed 
great  joy  on  getting  them  ;  he  hunted  several  moments 
for  a  seed  which  accidentally  fell  into  the  grass ;  evi- 
dently they  were  to  him  more  precious  than  jewels. 

All  the  youths  laughed  at  this  curious  action, 
though  they  had  felt  the  power  of  his  song.  Even  the 
little  satirical  urchin  who  had  come  back  to  the  com- 
pany from  his  crab-tree  had  felt  the  attraction.  Yet 
he  brought  with  him  his  mockery,  his  sarcasm  ;  he  at 
once  declared  that  the  old  fellow  was  crazy,  and  began 
to  badger  him :  — 

"  I  say,  old  man,  j^ou  cannot  live  on    apple -seeds." 

The  latter  calmly  replied : 

"  I  cannot  live  without  them." 

The  youngster  turned  from  him  contemptuously :  — 

'*  Well,  I  must  have  something  more  solid.  Boys, 
it  is  past  noon,  let  us  go  home  to  dinner." 

This  happy  suggestion  touched  a  responsive  chord 
in  two  of  the  three  youths  present,  and  they  bounded 
off  in  a  dance  to  the  new  music,  forgetful  of  the  old 
singer  and  his  melody.  The  young  scoffer  dominated 
over  the  spirit  of  his  elder  but  weaker  companion,  who, 
in  the  presence  of  another  influence,  had  been  attuned 
to  nobler  feelings.  So  it  has  ever  been  ;  the  sneer  is 
the  demon  who  first  terrifies  the  weaker  soul,  then  car- 
ries it  off  to  his  own  infernal  region. 

Another  fact  concerning  this  lad  Dick  Turnover,  we 
may  take  the  present  occasion  to   impart.     He  had 


UNDER    THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  71 

made  up  his  mind  to  be  a  journalist.  Even  in  the 
little  world  of  Freeburg  he  had  cast  shrewd  glances 
into  his  surroundings,  and  had,  b}^  his  own  insight, 
discovered  the  true  field  for  his  possibilities  to  be  the 
newspaper.  He  was  not  a  student,  though  he  had  a 
fair  education  ;  he  was  going  to  live  by  his  wits  and 
take  the  world  for  his  03'Ster.  There  were  two  print- 
ing offices  in  the  town,  he  had  looked  into  both,  and 
found  out  the  one  to  which  by  nature  he  belonged. 
Every  boy,  and  some  men,  had  made  his  acquaintance 
to  their  sorrow ;  his  nicknames  stuck  and  his  sarcasm 
stung  in  private.  Why  should  not  his  great  qualities 
be  made  eternal  in  printer's  ink?  Already  two  or 
three  small  paragraphs  of  his  coinage  had  found  their 
way  into  one  of  the  newspapers,  and  he  had  uncon- 
sciously developed  the  most  amazing  gift  of  the  re- 
porter for  the  daily  press. 

As  soon  as  Dick  was  gone,  Trolla  bobbed  up  from 
her  hiding-place,  and  made  herself  visible  to  the  two 
persons  who  still  remained  under  the  apple  tree.  She 
hung  about  somewhat  shyly  in  the  distance,  though 
she  was  no  longer  afraid,  as  her  little  enemy,  the  fiend- 
ish destroyer  of  her  happiness,  had  gone  away. 
Henry,  who  was  her  foster-brother,  called  her  to  come 
near,  but  she  continued  to  hover  around,  out  of  reach, 
waiting  apparently  for  the  old  man  to  sing  another 
song,  which  she  at  last  asked  for. 

Trolla  at  this  time  was  the  perfect  type  of  a  physical 
being.  There  was  a  rebound  in  every  step,  which  told 
of  ease  and  grace  ;  every  motion  was  not  only  complete 
in  itself,  but  had  an  elastic  echo  which  turned  for  a 
moment  her  entire  body  into  a  beautiful  ripple  of  flow- 


72  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

ing  folds.  She  had  an  inborn  pleasure  in  going ;  to 
her  all  movement  was  so  easy,  so  free,  so  healthful ; 
after  it  was  finished,  it  still  went  on  in  a  kind  of  rever- 
beration, till  it  sank  away  in  its  own  delight.  Through 
any  kind  of  garment  this  play  of  form  could  be  seen  ; 
the  muscular  upspring  followed  every  step,  and  her 
limbs  had  not  only  grace,  but  a  little  low  laugh  of 
triumph.  It  may  be  said  that  her  organism  sought  to 
speak  the  word  perfection. 

Yet  just  for  this  reason  her  shape  seemed  to  be  call- 
ing for  something  more  than  itself;  her  motion  had  in 
it  a  passing  beyond  motion  ;  and  her  whole  body  was 
trying  to  burst  its  bounds  into  some  new  freedom  out- 
side of  the  bod3\  Every  sympathetic  beholder  could 
feel,  that  out  of  lier  phj^sical  completeness  breathed  an 
ethereal  element,  and  in  her  very  perfection  was  a  pre- 
monition. 

The  old  man  gazed  upon  the  little  maiden,  a  sudden 
thrill  darted  through  him  from  head  to  foot,  he  reached 
out  for  her  as  she  flitted  around,  but  she  shot  behind 
the  tree,  and  sprang  into  the  bushes.  In  the  mean- 
time Henry  had  drawn  his  attention  by  a  question. 

In  the  breast  of  the  youth  the  old  man's  song  had 
set  in  movement  vibrations,  which  had  not  ceased  with 
the  music.  He  felt  the  longing  to  rdach  to  the  sources 
of  what  he  had  seen  and  heard ;  his  mind  stretched  to 
take  in  beginning  and  end ;  like  the  one  huge  coil  of 
the  earth-serpent,  the  mouth  of  the  first  tried  to  swal- 
low the  tail  of  the  last.  Certain  events  had  dropped 
into  his  life  that  morning ;  whence  are  they,  whither 
go  they,  who  sent  them,  and  for  what  do  they  come 
hither?     Even  the  fall  of  the  apple  just  at  the  right 


UNDER    THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  73 

second  in  Time  put  his  thoughts  in  a  whirl  which  swept 
them  far  out  among  the  suns  and  stars.  Those  two 
extremes  of  man's  destiny,  the  Whence  and  the 
Whither,  tried  to  shake  hands  across  the  Universe. 
There  hs  stood  alone  with  the  old  man,  w^ho  had  stirred 
up  the  depths ;  in  the  same  mood  still  he  turned  and 
asked ;  — 

"  From  what  part  of  the  world  do  you  come?  " 
"  From  over   the   great    river    and     lofty    moun- 
tain.'* 

The  answer  was  puzzling,  it  might  mean  anything 
and  everything,  anywhere  and  everywhere,  if  one 
would  go  far  enough  —  P^ast,  West,  North,  South. 
Still  it  must  have  a  special  meaning.  The  youth  again 
stretched  his  soul  forth  into  boundless  space,  but  soon 
came  back  with  another  interrogation :  —  • 

*'  To  what  place  are  you  going?  " 
*'  I  am  going  back,  but  I  shall  return." 
It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  it  was  a  young,  inex- 
perienced fellow  who  was  asking  these  questions,  and 
an  old  man  full  of  experience  who  was  answering  them. 
The  former  did  not  understand  the  plain  yet  myste- 
rious words  ;  still,  he  felt  in  his  youthful  heart  that  there 
was  some  secret  in  them,  which  time  could  unlock ;  he 
knew  that  they  were  full  of  meaning,  if  he  could  only 
put  it  there.  Who  was  to  blame  if  he  was  not  able  to 
comprehend  these  words,  himself  or  the  speaker?  Be 
it  praised  as  the  rarest  jewel  in  the  crown  of  this 
youth's  virtues  that  he  laid  the  fault  upon  his  own 
ignorance,  and  refused  to  censure  what  he  did  not  un- 
derstand.    For   such  a   person  there  is  an  unlimited 


74  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

possibility  of  attaining  unto  light.  But  at  present  he 
seemed  shut  up  in  his  own  little  world,  penned  within 
its  crushing  limits  ;  still,  he  sought  to  break  out  of  them 
and  enter  the  greater  realm.  It  was  a  vague  longing, 
but  it  drove  him  to  one  question  more :  — 

*'  Will  you  take  me  along?  " 

"I  can  take  you  only  when  you  are  able  to  go  of 
yourself." 

Silence  weighed  down  the  tongue  of  the  youth,  but 
the  craving  was  intensified  by  the  riddlesome  utter- 
ances of  the  old  man.  Still  they  seemed  to  give  an- 
swer, however  dark,  to  something  which  he  had  already 
felt ;  his  whole  unconscious  being  had  found  an  ex- 
pression, though  no  explanation.  He  stood  and  pon- 
dered, thoughts  darted  through  his  brain  like  sky 
rockets,  but  they  all  went  out  in  night  at  last.  "When 
the  final  glimmer  had  vanished,  he  stood  like  a  person 
dazed,  and  exclaimed  : — 

"  Your  words  I  understand,  but  not  your  mean- 
ing." 

"You  will  find  out  by  living." 

From  this  reply  unsteady  flashes  rose  again,  which 
for  the  moment  illuminated  his  brain ;  many  a  gleam 
of  insight,  like  torches  flung  from  mountain  peaks  in 
the  night,  blazed  sinking  slowly  out  of  vision  into  the 
dark  abysses  below.  But  a  picture  appeared  this 
time ;  he  thought  he  saw  a  faint  outline  of  Destiny 
with  a  huge  face  peering  from  a  cloud,  and  beckoning 
him  to  follow.  But  the  image  began  to  vanish  before 
words  harmoniously  uttered,  which  floated  upward 
bearing  away  the  cloud  and  its  phantom.     They  came 


UNDER   THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  75 

from  tbe  voice  of  the   old   man,  who  delivered  them 
in  a  kind  of  oracular  chant: — 

Thou  must,  in  man's  illusion, 

Behold  the  Lord's  conclusion; 

Inside  the  wild  world's  arabesque  border 

Gaze  on  the  picture  divine  of  his  order; 

And  in  the  play  of  Whither  and  Whence 

Enjoy  the  humor  of  Providence. 

The  lines  were  not  sung  in  the  previous  mode  ;  there 
was  no  music  of  the  instrument  accompanying  them  ; 
no  song,  but  rather  a  rhythmical  declamation  was  now 
the  form  of  utterance.  Still  the  effect  was  harmoni- 
ous, reconciling,  and  the  youth  felt  impelled  to  get 
rid  of  a  long  standing  boundary  of  ignorance,  by  de- 
manding an  answer  to  the  earliest  question  of  his 
conscious  existence  —  a  question  he  had  heard  so 
often  in  his  boyhood.     He  began:  — 

"  Old  man,  you  seem  to  stand  in  some  intimate  re- 
lation to  this  tree  ;  you  were  seeking  it,  you  came  to 
it,  you  sang  to  it,  and  under  it ;  all  could  see  that  it 
inspired  your  song,  in  some  hidden  way.  You  have 
tasted  of  its  fruit,  you  have  gathered  its  seeds,  and 
now  you  seem  satisfied.  But  that  is  not  all;  you 
came  at  an  important  moment,  a  turning-point  in  my 
life.  My  grandfather  wished  to  know  who  planted 
this  beneficent  tree  ;  but  he  died  in  ignorance.  His  de- 
sire has  been  transmitted  by  blood  and  by  example  to 
me  ;  but  I  still  live  in  darkness.  If  I  cannot  discover 
this  little  thing,  it  seems  as  if  all  things  draw  their 
lines  against  me,  and  shut  me  out  from  knowledge. 
I  feel  that  this  thirst  was  born  in  me  to  be    stilled ; 


76  THE    FREEBUFGERS. 

give  me  one  small  drop,  if  you  can,  of  the  cup  which 
alone  satisfies." 

The  old  man  began:  "There  were  no  houses  here 
then,  not  a  white  man  but  myself;  I  had  wandered  far 
into  the  great  forest,  I  found  a  naked  spot  on  this 
knoll,  I  committed  a  seed  to  the  ground  and  covered  it 
with  brush  for  protection  —  I  planted  this  apple  tree." 

There  could  be  no  doubt  of  it,  the  question  was  an- 
swered. The  flash  of  knowledge  had  come  this  time  to 
stay.  But  the  very  answer,  as  usual,  begat  new  prob- 
lems. •  Why  should  such  a  man  roam  about  in  this 
way,  with  song  and  instrument ;  what  impulse  drives 
him  forward  —  what  rent  is  there  in  his  heart?  Henry 
was  again  plunged  into  his  thought-dream  ;  he  turned 
around  to  consult  the  oracle  anew. 

But  the  old  man  seemed  changed ;  he  was  gazing  in- 
tently at  the  school-house  ;  tears  filled  the  aged  furrows 
which  spread  out  from  his  eyes,  the  bag  which  con- 
tained his  instrument  had  fallen  carelessly  at  his  side. 

Henry  asked  in  surprise:  — 

"  What  do  you  see?  " 

*'  Nothing  of  which  I  can  tell,"  was  the  answer. 

But  he  had  seen  something,  and  something  that 
startled  him.  A  female  figure  dressed  in  white  had 
appeared  in  the  distance  for  a  moment,  and  had  darted 
into  the  school-house.  It  was  but  a  flash,  Henry  had 
not  seen  it. 

After  a  few  minutes  he  suppressed  his  emotions,  and 
began  to  speak:  "  Young  friend,  do  not  be  astonished 
at  this  outburst  of  feeling,  of  which  an  ocean  lies  in 
me.  I  could  often  sink  away  in  my  own  tears,  and 
be  drowned  in  them,  did  I  but  yield  to  my  impulse. 


UNDER    THE    TALL    APPLE    TREE.  77 

It  requires  frequently  but  a  look,  a  passing  gesture,  a 
trick  of  voice  falling  upon  a  tender  mood,  to  set  all 
the  waters  flowing.  Forgive  me,  I  shall  try  to  con- 
trol myself  better,  if  I  should  ever  meet  you  again. 
But  "now  permit  me  to  depart." 

The  old  man  moved  off,  going  on  the  line  by  which 
he,  had  come.  Soon  he  had  vanished  out  of  sight  and 
hearing.  He,  too,  the  oracle,  had  found  his  mystery 
on  that  spot  where  he  once  planted  the  mysterious 
apple  tree. 


CHAPTER   THIRD, 


AB 0  UND  HENR  Y  FIBE S TONE. 


The  words  of  the  old  singer  had  produced  a  pure 
calm,  as  well  as  a  quiet  exaltation,  in  the  spirit  of 
young  Henry  Firestone.  To  be  sure,  they  had  called 
up  new  questions,  but  these  too  showed  illumination 
from  that  final  answer,  like  dark,  distant  shapes 
beaten  upon  by  the  sunlight  which  has  pierced  the 
nearer  intervening  cloud.  A  new  hope  crept  through 
his  being,  stealthily  yet  mightily ;  the  first  interroga- 
tion of  his  life  had  received  a  sure  response,  and  in  it 
he  had  obtained  an  earnest  that  much  else  would  be 
answered.  The  limit  of  ignorance  against  which 
hitherto  he  seemed  to  be  beating  out  his  brains  in 
vain,  he  now  felt  would  be  removed.  Another  lofty 
emotion,  which  he  had  not  experienced  before,  helped 
lift  him  upward  —  faith.  He  had  been  granted  a 
glimpse  into  the  providential  order  of  things ;  that 
apple  tree  had  been  planted  in  a  certain  spot  at  a  cer- 
tain time  by  a  strange  hand ;  the  result  was,  that  he 
existed,  and  his  family,  and,  possibly,  the  town  of 
Freeburg,  through  a  little  far-off  deed  of  beneficence. 
Did  not  all  this  point  a  way  through  the  dark,  and 
(78) 


AROUND   HENRY   FIRESTONE.  79 

illustrate  what  is,  in  a  hidden  manner,  perchance, 
transpiring  at  present  in  the  world?  Two  celestial 
virtues,  faith  and  hope,  had  indeed  begun  to  dawn 
upon  his  soul. 

But  the  counter  tendency  must  not  be  forgotten  in 
the  present  satisfied  condition  of  this  young  aspirer. 
Henry  even  now  dimly  feels  that  the  answer  to  one 
question  often  wakes  another  and  more  difficult  ques- 
tion, hitherto  dormant.  So  it  must  be,  else  there 
were  no  progress ;  the  spirit  cannot  long  rest  in  its 
own  boundaries,  it  must  beat  against  them  with  its 
wings,  or  die.  The  answer,  though  it  be  true,  is  still 
bordered  with  the  Unknown,  nay,  with  more  of  it  than 
before.  Behold  the  spliere  of  the  Kjiown,  as  it  is 
pushed  further  and  further  beyond ;  it  becomes  vast 
indeed,  but  there  is  a  still  vaster  outlying  sphere  of 
the  Unknown,  which  encompasses  it  on  every  side  with 
darkness,  and  is  waiting  for  spiritual  illumination. 
We  are  all  like  the  little  boy,  who,  being  told  that 
God  made  him,  asks.  Who  then  made  God? 

While  thus  Henry  lay  in  sweet  serenity  of  mind,  a 
noise  began  to  enter  his  quiet  nook  and  drive  off  his 
peace.  It  arose  from  the  Public  Square,  the  place  of 
din  and  conflict,  which,  though  not  yisible,  was  not 
very  far  away.  Henry  was  soon  on  his  feet ;  he  at 
once  started  to  leave  his  shady  spot,  which  was  in- 
closed on  all  sides  by  private  houses ;  it  was,  indeed, 
the  placid  abode  of  the  soul,  the  secluded  home  of 
the  spirit.  He  felt  strongly  the  transition  as  he  came 
out  into  the  open  street ;  it  was  as  if  he  had  entered 
another  world.  Still  he  had  to  go  ;  the  call  was  strong 
in  him  ;  he  felt  that  he  must  remain  no  longer  to-day  in 


80  THE    FREEBURGEUS. 

the  still-life  of  eontemplation.  He  soon  reached  the 
Public  Square;  the  strife  of  loud  voices  came  from  a 
large  crowd  of  people  who  were  standing  around  two 
men  engaged  in  a  warm  discussion. 

"I  say  it  is  a  burning  shame  to  defeat  the  old 
Judge  who  has  served  us  so  long  and  so  faithfully/' 
said  a  man  with  great  animation,  as  he  brought  his 
clenched  fist  heavily  clown  toward  his  own  thigh,  but 
stopped  the  descending  sledge-hammer  before  it 
reached  its  apparent  destination. 

His  antagonist  replied:  "A  very  worthy  and  re- 
spectable fossil,  I  grant ;  but  what  we  wanted  was  a 
man  of  our  own  time,  and  now  we  have  him." 

"  What  is  going  on  here,"  asked  the  youth. 

"Fighting  over  the  old  battle,"  said  a  voice  in 
reply. 

"  No,  it  is  a  skirmishing  before  the  new  battle, 
which  is  yet  to  be  fought,"  said  another  voice. 

"  Two  different  opinions  evermore,"  said  Henr}/  to 
himself  ;   "  what  discord  !  " 

Though  the  election  was  over,  the  village  was  still 
disturbed  and  divided ;  the  scission  had  gone  to  the 
very  heart  of  the  community,  and  would  not  heal.  It 
was  felt,  after  the  smoke  of  the  battle  had  cleared 
away,  that  the  personality  of  the  two  candidates  was 
but  a  small  matter  ;  their  victory  or  defeat  was  merely 
the  gossamer  that  was  swayed  by  the  brewing  storm. 
The  people  could  not  get  over  the  argument ;  they  re- 
curred to  it  again  and  again.  The  breach  was  not 
only  permanent,  but  seemed  to  be  quietly  growing 
deeper.  Nothing  of  the  kind  had  been  known  in  the 
previous  history  of  Freeburg ;  after  an  election  every- 


AROUND    HENRY    FIRESTONE.  81 

body  used  to  quiet  down,  glad  that  the  contest  was 
settled.  But  at  present  it  was  not  settled  at  all ;  it 
was  rather  unsettled.  Principles,  not  persons,  were 
felt  to  be  hanging  in  the  balance,  and  the  conflict  of 
principles  would  not  sink  out  of  sight.  The  call  was 
heard  like  the  blast  of  a  trumpet ;  every  Freeburger 
was  soon  awaie  that  the  line  of  battle  was  drawn  in  his 
own  soul,  and  that  he  was  enlisted  for  the  war. 

Our  young  friend  Henry  was  disagreeably  affected 
by  the  discordant  wrangle  which  he  saw  before  him. 
It  struck  so  harshly  on  the  harmonious  mood  which 
had  been  awakened  in  him  by  the  old  singer,  that  he 
shivered  in  a  chill  of  dissonance.  He  began  to  inquire 
again,  and  inquiry  is  not  musical. 

"What  is  to  be  the^  outcome  of  this  struggle?  I 
supposed  it  had  ceased  with  the  election,  but  it  breaks 
out  anew  everywhere.  Underneath  it  all  is  there  any 
harmony?  What  kind  of  a  song  would  the  old  singer 
make  to  this  tune?  He  hardly  belongs  to  the  same 
world  as  these  fighting,  writhing,  struggling  mortals; 
still,  he  must  be  somewhere  around.  I  would  like  to 
see  his  aged,  venerable  foim  chanting  in  the  midst  of 
these  angry,  contending  elements,  to  see  if  he  could 
tame  them  to  any  kind  of  order  and  concord.  Here  is 
the  spot  for  him  to  sing  or  act  Providence,  not  in 
idyllic  repose  under  the  peaceful  shade  of  the  Tall 
Apple  Tree." 

In  such  manner  the  youth  reacted  against  his  former 
mood,  and  no  longer  thrilled  in  concert  with  the  melo- 
dious notes  he  had  erewhile  heard.  He  withdrew  from 
the  crowd  out  of  tune ;  then  he  noticed  for  the  first 
time  that  he  was  feeling  the  pangs  of  hunger,  which 

6 


82  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

of  itself  is  enough  to  produce  discord.  The  thought, 
however,  of  one  of  Aunt  Polly's  good  dinners  distant 
a  few  minutes'  walk,  gave  him  instantaneous  relief. 


II. 


He  set  out  homeward,  arrived  soon,  and  found  that 
he  was  a  little  late  for  his  meal,  though  the  family 
were  still  at  the  table,  engaged  in  animated  disputa- 
tion. As  he  entered  the  gate,  he  heard  the  heavy  base 
voice  of  his  brother  Charles  smitinoj  the  nail  of  aroju- 
ment  on  its  head  ;  the  deep  tones,  however,  were  often 
overflowed  and  drowned  out  by  the  high  shrill  soprano 
notes  of  his  sister  Wanda.  IL  was  manifest  that  the 
two  voices  were  not  sinojinor  in  tune. 

When  Henry  entered,  Aunt  Polly  saluted  him,  and 
said  in  her  motherly  way :  — 

"  You  are  late,  child,  but  I  have  saved  a  good  slice 
for  you." 

At  once  she  started  for  the  kitchen  and  soon  re- 
turned with  all  that  hunger  could  pray  for. 

Henr}^  asked :    "  What  is  this  loud  talk  about?  " 

Aunt  Polly,  smiling,  replied:  "Oh,  it  is  the  old 
subject." 

To  this  the  father  answered  with  an  austere  look 
from  the  other  end  of  the  table :  "  Yet  it  is  the  subject 
which  remains  ever  new." 

Aunt  Polly  sighed :  "  Well,  I  am  getting  tired  of  it, 
for  it  is  as  old  as  I  am." 

*' What!  tired  of  humanity,  of  your  own  kind!  tired 
of  conscience!  "  ejaculated  the  father. 


AROUND   HENRY   FIRESTONE.  88 

**What!  tired  of  your  country  and  its  laws!'*  bel- 
lowed the  son  Charles  in  his  hoarsest  note. 

At  this  signal  Wanda's  high  voice  joined  the  others, 
and  the  chorus  began  anew.  To  the  domestic  concert 
Henry  contributed  with  great  diligence,  the  music  of 
knives  and  forks,  set  off  by  frequent  variations  on  the 
clatter  of  dishes.  As  he  ate,  he  thought  to  himself: 
**  The  confusion  has  followed  me  home  through  the 
Public  Square,  and  entered  the  household.  What  a 
fiend  of  discord  is  in  pursuit  of  us!  The  old  singer 
ought  to  be  present  now  and  lay  on  us  his  spell.  I 
wonder  if  he  could  behold  the  ordering  hand  in  all 
this  tumult." 

Not  only  was  the  community  in  general  divided,  but 
the  breach  of  the  time  had  gone  into  families  and  had 
arrayed  various  members  of  the  same  hearth  against 
one  another.  This  opposition  seemed  at  times  to  grow 
the  more  intense  because  of  the  closeness  of  the  ties 
which  bound  the  persons  together.  The  individual 
family  became  the  little  image  of  the  great  national 
family  ;  there  was  foreshadowed  in  the  one  what  was 
preparing  to  transpire  in  the  other.  The  Firestones 
were  a  leading  family  in  the  town  of  Freeburg ;  they 
showed  what  was  taking  place  everywhere  —  the  bands 
of  love  rudely  tested  and  often  sprung  asunder  by  po- 
litical differences.  Still,  these  differences,  in  the  pres- 
ent case,  did  not  lead  to  alienation.  But  affection 
was  frequently  tried  to  the  last  pinch  of  endurance. 

The  father,  Herman  Firestone,  true  to  the  German 
blood  of  the  Reformation,  which  ran  in  his  veins,  was 
rampant  for  conscience  ;  he  could  become  intoxicated 
with  it  and  lose  all  sense  of  institutions  in  his  debauch. 


84  THE    FIIEEBURGERS. 

Narrow,  but  intense,  he  bad  in  him  the  stuff  of  which 
martyrs  are  made.  But  now  comes  the  strange  fact 
of  the  family;  equally  rampant,  but  for  law  and  es- 
tablished right,  was  his  eldest  son  Charles  —  a  man 
grown,  but  a  wild  boy  in  enthusiasm,  which  sometimes 
had  a  tendency  to  break  over  law,  though  he  would 
have  died  like  an  old  Roman,  for  the  principle  of  le- 
gality. His  character  showed  itself  in  an  inborn  love 
of  the  military  spirit,  which  he  kept  alive  in  the  com- 
munity, and  which  drilled  his  quick  impulses  into 
obedience. 

This  military  spirit  seemed  to  have  no  call  in  the 
peaceful  village  of  Freeburg,  but  it  existed  in  Charles 
Firestone  by  its  own  native  right,  as  well  as  by  some 
dim  sense  that  there  would  be  need  for  it.  *'  The 
world  is  not  yet  ready  for  universal  peace,"  he  would 
say;  *' look  at  these  political  disputes;  do  you  sup- 
pose they  are  always  going  to  end  in  wind?"  So  he 
frequently  spoke,  hardly  weighing  the  full  import 
of  his  words ;  it  was  his  solution  of  persistent  wrang- 
ling—  fight.  The  people  laughed  at  bis  little  mili- 
tary company,  which  drilled  Saturdays  on  the  Public 
Square ;  "you  will  all  join  it  one  day,"  he  said.  He 
claimed  an  old  copy  of  Tactics  from  the  little  Fire- 
stone library ;  it  was  the  only  book  be  bad  inherited, 
he  affirmed.  He  pored  over  it,  be  practiced  its  di- 
rections in  his  boyhood,  with  a  broomstick  for  a  gun. 
All  the  kindred  spirits  of  the  town  he  initiated  into 
the  drill,  and  formed  into  a  small  squad  of  spirited 
3^oung  warriors.  First  they  bad  wooden  guns,  made 
by  the  village  carpenter ;  latterly  they  had  obtained 
from  the  State  actual  muskets,  which  shot  powder  and 


AROUND    HENRY   FIRESTONE.  85 

ball  — with  fire  in  their  bellies,  as  the  exultant  soldiers 
now  observed. 

There  were  two  daughters.  One  of  them  was  the 
quiet,  sweet-faced  Fidelia;  she  said  but  little,  yet 
always  clung  to  the  side  of  her  father,  without  much 
exercise  of  judgment,  but  with  great  devotion.  Of 
the  other  daughter,  Wanda,  we  have  already  heard. 
She  could  talk,  in  fact  she  could  not  hold  her  tongue 
in  a  discussion ;  she  was  an  independent  3'oung 
lady,  and  usually  showed  her  independence  by  taking 
sides  ao^ainst  her  father.  Durinor  the  last  election, 
however,  she  was  a  warm  supporter  of  young  Mr. 
Conington,  and  for  once  agreed  with  her  parent.  She 
was  the  one  who  always  threw  the  apple  of  discord 
into  the  company  at  the  table.  She  teased,  she  taunted, 
she  defied,  till  she  saw  her  opponent  step  forth  ready 
for  the  onset.  The  ardent  disputants  joined  in  a  tour- 
ney, and  the  discussion  grew  hot  while  the  dinner 
grew  cold„ 

Aunt  Polly,  sister  of  the  father,  and  mistress  of  the 
household  since  the  death  of  the  mother,  moderately 
agreed  with  her  brother,  but  strongly  disagreed  with 
the  discussion.  She  had  often  to  stem,  by  supreme 
authority,  the  violent  debates  which  tore  the  peace  of 
the  family  to  tatters.  Yet  Aunt  Polly  had  her  inter- 
ests, private  and  public,  which  she  did  not  fail  to  look 
after.  She,  too,  could  get  warm  in  the  defense  of  her 
peculiar  opinions. 

We  must  not  fail  to  give  a  passing  notice  to  little 
TroUa,  who  sat  at  the  side  of  Aunt  Poll}- ,  sipping  only 
the  honey  of  the  food ;  she  would  run  off  when  the 
disputation  began,  and   with  her  the  spirit  of    peace 


86  THE    FREEBURGER8. 

seemed  to  have  fled.  She  usually  slipped  away  to  the 
garden  to  converse  with  her  flower-friends,  who,  she 
said,  never  discussed  politics.  Still  she  confessed 
that  she  had  to  scold  them  once  in  a  while  for  some 
fragrant  naughtiness. 

Next  to  Trolla  always  sat  the  younger  son,  Henry 
Firestone,  with  whom  we  have  already  formed  some  ac- 
quaintance. He  had  finished  his  repast  and  had 
drawn  his  chair  back,  when  Miss  Fidelia  asked  him:  — 

"Well,  what  do  you  think,  Henry?" 

"  I  believe  that  I  am  more  certain  in  my  uncer- 
tainty than  ever  before.  1  used  to  think  that  both 
sides  were  wrong,  then  that  both  sides  were  right,  but 
to-day  I  hold  that  both  sides  are  both  right  and 
wrong." 

At  this  statement  all  laughed  in  a  common  explo- 
sion ;  the  poor  boy  was  bantered,  ridiculed,  satirized ; 
each  party  united  in  disowning  him,  with  strong  as- 
sumption of  its  own  infallibility. 

The  youth's  declaration  was  itself  uncertain,  like 
himself,  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest.  In  these  partisan 
disputes  he  seemed  to  hang  in  a  balance  and  oscil- 
late from  side  to  side ;  he  felt  the  might  of  both  princi- 
ples with  quite  equal  intensity,  and  when  the  two 
clashed  together  in  his  heart,  he  was  full  of  discord. 
By  nature  he  would  have  followed  his  brother,  and 
have  been  a  moderate  supporter  of  Judge  AUworthy, 
but  by  education  he  kept  leaning  more  and  more  to 
the  side  of  conscience,  through  the  sweet  persuasive 
lips  of  his  teacher,  the  school-mistress,  Miss  Hope 
Winslow.  She  had  gained  a  strong  influence  over 
him,  and  had,  to  a  great  extent,  moulded  his  devel- 


AROUND    HENRY    FIRESTONE.  87 

opment.  Still,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  be  alto- 
gether a  partisan ;  an  argument  that  presented  itself 
honestly  to  his  mind,  he  could  not  turn  out  of  doors ; 
he  always  took  it  in,  wherever  it  belonged,  and  gave  it 
a  hospitable  entertainment.  He  was  so  weak  as  to  be 
unable  to  defend  himself  against  any  attack  of  truth. 
Thus  the  two  sides  were  lodged  together  in  his  brain, 
and  they  often  began  to  grind  there,  like  two  mill- 
stones, producing  by  the  friction  many  sparkles,  but 
little  or  no  flour. 

The  family  rose  and  left  the  table  ;  for  the  hundredth 
time  it  had  shown  the  breach  which  lay  in  itself,  in 
the  community,  and  in  the  country.  The  soul  of  the 
period  was  split  open,  and  there  was  no  healing  power, 
apparently,  which  could  again  make  it  whole.  With- 
out saying  a  word,  Henry  went  out  of  the  house  into 
the  street ;  he  was  not  angry,  but  completely  untuned  ; 
every  thought  and  every  feeling  were  in  a  wrangle  and 
a  jangle.  He  tried  to  think  of  the  old  fiddler  and  the 
harmony  of  the  world,  which  he  hnd  felt  so  strongly  in 
the  morning,  but  there  reigned  only  confusion  and 
conflict  in  himself  and  everywhere  else.  In  such  a 
mood  he  strayed  listlessly  back  to  the  Public  Square, 
in  which,  as  already  indicated,  the  strife  of  the  time 
found  utterance. 


III. 


He  stood  there,  engaged  in  a  small  war  with  him- 
self, when  his  attention  was  drawn  to  a  bystander, 
whom  he  thought  he  knew,  but  who  was  evidently  a 
stranger  in  the  village.     He  observed  the  man  eyeing 


88  THE    FREEBURGEtiS. 

him  with  a  sly  attention  ;  each  had  excited  the  curi- 
osity of  the  other,  and  each  had  become  aware  of  the 
fact. 

The  man  approached  and  spoke  first:  "For  some 
reason,  I  seem  to  know  you." 

Henry  answered:  "  Yes,  I  have  also  been  thinking 
that  I  have  met  you  before  somewhere." 

"  A  secret  recognition  of  our  spirits,"  said  the  man, 
with  a  quizzical  smile.  He  had  a  great  arch  of  eye- 
brow and  forehead,  under  which  a  little  pair  of  rapid 
gleaming  rat-eyes,  which  evidently  had  the  power  of 
seeing  in  the  darkest  night,  darted  in  and  out  of  their 
sockets,  in  a  sprightly  play  of  appearance  and  con- 
cealment. After  a  moment  of  hiding,  they  shot  out 
upon  Henry  along  with  the  following  remark:  — 

"  I  see  you  have  had  a  little  battle  here." 

The  youth  had  too  much  of  the  conflict  in  him  not 
to  perceive  the  allusion.     He  answered :  — 

"Yes,  we  have;  but  how  do  you  know?  " 

"  See  these  fragments  of  paper  ballots  lying  around 
the  Public  Square.  Pick  them  up ;  are  they  not 
heavy?  Are  they  not  of  lead  and  ready  to  be  melted 
into  bullets?" 

The  man  grinned  with  manifest  pleasure  at  the 
mystification  which  he  had  caused  in  the  look  of  the 
youth.  The  subtle  eyes  played  in  and  out,  and  at  last 
steadied  themselves  in  a  continuous  glance,  which  ac- 
companied these  words :  "I  have  seen  it  all,  nobody 
can  tell  me  anything  about  it.  Do  you  know  that  my 
vision  is  better  in  the  dark  than  in  daylight?  '* 

Henry  answered  in  some  uncertainty:  — 

"  It  was  a  peaceful  victory." 


AROUXD  HENKY  FIRESTONE.         89 

"  So  it  was.  Still  I  have  noticed  some  wounded 
men  limping  about  town  during  the  past  few  days." 

Henry  now  looked  at  the  man  more  carefully.  Be- 
tween the  little  restless  eyes  forever  playing  hide-and- 
go-seek,  he  observed  a  prodigious  nose  that  could 
flatten  to  a  plane  on  a  level  with  the  face,  or  rise  to  a 
point  hooking  over  the  mouth,  apparently  at  the  will 
of  the  owner.  It  showed  small  red  and  white  points 
of  light  flashing  through  the  cuticle  everywhere,  wlien 
in  excitement,  as  if  the  whole  organ  were  hung  out  to 
be  the  torch-bearer  of  the  mind.  Henry  gazed  at  the 
spectacle  in  astonishment  and  asked:  "  What  do  you 
mean?  " 

The  stranger  suddenly  straightened  his  face  out  of 
its  comic  twist  into  sober  lines  and  answered:  "No- 
body pliysically  hurt  and  bleeding,  I  suppose ;  still 
there  are  wounds.  Many  are  not  as  sound  men  as 
they  were  before  ;  they  have  taken  sides  too  intensely  ; 
they  have  made  themselves  such  strong  halves  that 
they  can  never  again  be  whole.  You  all  seem  worn 
out,  too ;  a  great  strain  has  been  upon  you,  and  you 
still  walk  bent  forward  or  backward.  But  it  is  child's 
play  to  what  is  coming.  Get  ready  ;  you  have  given 
your  votes,  next  you  will  have  to  give  your  bodies." 

Dire  prophesies  are  often  heard  from  mouths  not 
overwise ;  wars  and  rumors  of  wars  are  too  common 
to  cause  much  terror ;  but  this  prophet,  in  spite  of, 
perhaps  by  virtue  of,  his  grotesque  humor,  spoke  with 
a  peculiar  authority,  which  filled  the  youth  with  awe. 
The  latter  now  observed  for  the  first  time  that  the 
strange  man  had  a  foreign  accent,  which  appeared 
strongly   in   certain   words,  then  vanished   in   others 


90  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

altogether.  He  played  with  speech,  hiding  his  thought 
therein,  or  revealing  it,  according  to  his  impulse.  A 
series  of  transformations  he  seemed  to  be  undergoing 
always ;  he  was  in  a  continuous  process  of  unfolding 
through  Time.  Henry  now  noticed  his  figure  partic- 
ularly, as  he  rose  up  tall,  broad-shouldered,  of  power- 
ful build,  with  a  sweep  of  arm  like  a  giant.  Leaning 
over  to  the  youth,  he  spoke  in  a  shrill,  husky  whisper: 
"Are  you  ready  for  the  big  war,  my  boy?  You  are 
of  the  right  age,  you  will  have  to  go.'* 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Henry  Firestone's  mood  was 
changing,  his  petty  discord  began  to  turn  into  a  colos- 
sal foreboding,  under  the  enchantment  of  the  stranger ; 
the  strife  of  the  Public  Square  melted  away  into  the 
distant  roll  of  the  world's  tumult.  But  he  called  him- 
self back  from  his  mind-roaming,  and  with  some  force 
he  whipped  his  timorous  spirit  into  asking  a  question 
of  that  bewildering  presence :  — 

*'  On  which  side  are  you?  " 

The  man's  huge  nose  lapsed  at  once  from  its  hooked 
point  and  spread  over  his  countenance,  vanishing  into 
an  enormous  grin,  which  broke  suddenly  into  a  loud 
laugh.  Henry  was  now  not  only  mystified  but  startled, 
and  made  ready  to  withdraw.  But  the  rude  laughter 
and  the  fantastic  grimaces  of  the  buffoon  in  a  moment 
settled  down  into  the  earnest,  rapt  glance  of  the 
prophet,  who  now'gave  answer :  — 

"  Why  this  breach  in  the  soul?  Why  Conscience 
against  Law,  or  Law  against  Conscience?  Why  hus- 
band against  wife,  or  wife  against  husband?  Con- 
science is  the  inborn  Law,  and  Law  is  the  outer  Con- 
science.    They  are  the  two  which  make  one,  yet  now 


AROUND  HENRY  FIRESTONE.         91 

they  are  not  only  two,  but  are  divorced  ;  not  only  di- 
vorced, but  are  going  to  fight,  and  when  they  fight, 
nations  are  their  weapons.  The  note  sings  in  the  air, 
the  roll-call  -is  heard  on  the  hills,  this  election 
is  but  a  handful  of  chaff  thrown  upon  the  wind, 
which  is  blowing  straight  upon  the  hell-flames  of 
war:  What  Freeburg  has  done,  the  State  will 
do,  the  Nation  will  do,  only  to  the  music  of  can- 
non. Oman,  thou  earth-worm,  choosing  to  be  a  pain- 
ful, wriggling,  bleeding  fragment,  with  which  Destiny 
baits  her  hook  to  fish  in  the  stream  of  time  for  gud- 
geons! Thy  Conscience  may  put  down  thy  Law,  and 
stamp  and  spit  upon  it ;  then  comes  the  new  battle, 
and  the  new  stroke  from  the  tail  of  the  same  old  red 
dragon  switching  in  the  opposite  direction  —  thy  Law 
will  have  to  put  down  thy  Conscience.'* 

Thus  the  stranger  seemed  to  turn  over  the  leaves 
in  the  Book  of  the  Fates,  and  peer  in  far  ahead  of 
the  time  of  day ;  he  also  gave  to  the  youth  at  his  side 
a  fleeting  glance  into  the  sibylline  pages.  The  idea 
was  very  vague,  but  it  brought  a  boon  —  a  stimulating 
composure  ;  Henry  again  felt  something  of  the  har- 
mony of  the  old  singer  welling  up  into  new  aspiration. 
But  how  different  men  are  in  being  one!  He  per- 
ceived that  there  was  a  point  in  common  between  the 
two  strange  persons  he  had  seen  that  day,  and  yet 
there  was  great  diversity.  They  seemed  two  rays  of 
light  darting  from  opposite  ends  of  the  universe,  and 
meeting  in  a  common  center  of  intense  brilliancy, 
which  did  not  always  aid,  and  sometimes  paralyzed 
altogether,  the  vision. 


92  THE   FREEBURGEKS. 


IV. 


The  youth  rested  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  to  pon- 
der more  easily  the  above  statement  of  the  conflict  be- 
tween the  legal  and  moral  spheres  —  a  conflict  which 
he  too  had  strongly  felt  in  his  young  life.  But  as  he 
turned  around,  he  saw  Judge  All  worthy,  the  de- 
throned king  of  the  Law,  standing  before  him  in  the 
act  of  addressing  the  stranger. 

The  Judge  bore  his  defeat  cheerfully,  but  it  was  plain 
that  something  beside  his  personal  discomfiture  weighed 
upon -his  mind.  He  was  a  patriot,  he  felt  the  coming 
struggle  of  the  nation  in  his  heart.  He  seemed  in 
worse  health  than  usual,  short  spasms  of  a  hacking 
cough  often  obtruded  themselves  between  his  words  ; 
he  rested  somewhat  heavily  upon  his  cane  for  support. 
As  he  approached,  he  had  caught  the  last  words  of 
the  stranger,  which  appeared  to  promise  some  distant 
triumph  for  legality.  His  features  lightened,  he  raised 
up  his  eyes  in  interest,  and  he  seemed  momentarily 
relieved,  as  if  by  a  touch  of  unexpected  sympathy. 
With  a  f riendl}^  smile  he  addressed  the  speaker :  — 

"  I  believe  I  have  seen  you  before." 

"You  are  right.  lam  the  heavy-shod  pedestrian 
whom  you  overtook,  when  you  were    on  horseback." 

The  Judge  laughed,  and  said:  "  Since  then  I  have 
been  unhorsed,  and  I  too  now  have  to  go  on  foot." 

The  pedestrian,  whom  we  shall  often  call  the  stranger, 
replied:  "You  are  welcome  to  my  mode  of  con- 
veyance ;  there  is  room  for  everybody.  We  may  now 
take  a  journey  together." 


AROUND    HENRY    FIRESTONE.  93 

The  banter  continued  a  little  while,  then  the  Judge 
remarked:  "  You  seem  to  remain  a  long  time  in  our 
unimportant  village." 

*' Yes/'  said  the  stranger,  "  I  have  found  the  place 
interesting." 

"  Indeed!"  replied  the  Judge  with  a  slight  tinge  of 
bitterness  possibly  left  from  his  defeat,  "  I  find  it  a 
dull,  small,  insignificant  spot  which  I  sometimes  think 
of  leaving.  Why  should  a  man  coop  himself  up  for 
life  in  his  own  little  corn-bin?"  l^ 

"I  cannot  deny  your  statements,  and  perhaps  I  yrould 
think  as  you  do,  were  I  in  3'our  situation.  Still,  all  is 
taking  place  just  here  too,  more  distinctly,  I  imagine, 
than  in  great  cities.  If  one  desires  to  read  the  hand- 
writing of  the  time,  the  letters  should  not  be  very  large 
or  very  complicated." 

"  Quite  likely,"  said  the  Judge,  "  but  have  you  not 
changed  your  opinion,  since  you  have  lived  among  us 
and  seen  how  matters  arc  going?" 

Tlie  stranger  could  not  give  the  secret  consolation 
which  the  Judge's  question  implied.  He  answered: 
' '  No,  I  have  had  no  cause  ,  on  the  contrary,  I  have  been 
confirmed  in  what  I  stated  when  I  first  saw  you. 
The  trouble  of  the  time  lies  in  a  much  deeper  source 
than  in  the  actions  of  a  few  politicians.  They  are  the 
shuttle-cock,  not  the  wind." 

"  Humph,"  grunted  the  Judge,  while  the  stranger 
went  right  on :  — 

"  But  tell  mo,  have  you  not  modified  your  opinion, 
in  view  of  the  recent  events,  which  seem  to  have  had 
you  specially  in  training?" 

The  Judge   hesitated  in   his  answer,  and  began    to 


94  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

hack  a  little ;  the  truth  is,  he  was  startled  at  being  so 
suddenly  whirled  about  and  made  to  look  at  his  own 
unconscious  condition.  He  had  felt  misgivings,  he  was 
not  at  one  with  himself,  down  deep  there  was  a  secret 
protest.  He  had  a  dim  sense  of  the  meaning  of  his 
defeat,  but  he  would  not  acknowledge  it ;  he  would 
not  openly  take  the  lesson,  though  the  time  had  written 
it  upon  his  heart  too.  He  firmly  held  his  jaws  together, 
as  if  in  defiance  of  his  own  unconscious  scruple,  and 
spake:  "I  say  still,  it  has  been  a  great  mistake  in 
our  rulers  to  call  up  this  question,  when  it  might  have 
been  avoided.** 

But  no  sooner  had  the  words  been  spoken,  than 
there  appeared  behind  him  Cudjo  Bell,  whom  we  have 
already  known  as  a  runaway  slave  in  the  employ  of 
Judge  Allworth}'',  and  who  was  the  sole  African  in  Free- 
burg.  He  was  a  stalwart,  courageous,  kind-hearted 
black  fellow,  much  liked  in  the  village  for  his  antics, 
and  melodies,  and  queer  stories,  which  kept  alive  danc- 
ing, music,  and  the  myth  in  a  soil  not  very  favorable. 
Yet  he  had  strong,  deep  currents  in  him,  which  few 
suspected.  There  he  stood,  a  living  embodiment  of  the 
struggle  in  the  soul  of  the  Judge,  who,  in  harboring 
that  negro,  had  denied  and  defied  his  own  principle  of 
legality. 

The  African  listened  intently  to  the  talk,  which  he 
knew  involved,  his  race,  as  was  the  fact  about  nearly 
all  the  talk  at  this  time  heard  in  Freeburg.  He  stood 
at  the  back  of  the  Judge,  leaned  over  with  a  set  look, 
and  put  his  hand  to  his  ear.  It  is  needless  to  say  that 
he  grinned. 

The   stranger,  almost  in  imitation  of  Cudjo,  took  a 


AROUND    HENRY   FIRESTONE.  95 

position  and  fixed  his  head  in  a  burlesque  attitude 
before  the  Judge  ;  the  monstrous  nose  again  flattened 
down  into  a  broad  smile,  and  the  little  eyes  flung  a 
stream  of  sparkles  out  of  their  recesses  as  he  gave 
answer :  — 

**  Perhaps  it  is  you  who  have  made  the  mistake  ;  at 
least  events  are  inclined  to  speak  that  way.  But,  as 
to  this  question  of  which  you  complain,  the  rulers 
have  not  called  it  up,  it  has  long  existed,  it  always 
comes  of  itself  without  any  call.  Do  you  know  it  is  in 
our  presence,  just  here  at  this  moment,  if  we  could 
see  both  fore  and  aft."  A  droll  squint  added  a  facial 
commentary  to  these  words. 

The  Judge,  of  course,  did  not  understand  the  allus- 
sion  ;  he  could  not,  in  his  situation,  but  Cudjo  did,  and 
looked  up  from  behind  his  employer,  staring  at  the 
stranger  and  displaying  a  great  semi-lunar  sweep  of 
big  white  teeth  from  ear  to  ear.  He  took  off  his  hat, 
and  gave  a  slight  nod  of  his  curly  head  in  recognition. 
But  he  made  no  noise. 

With  a  sudden  gesture  the  Judge  broke  out:  "  It 
is  madness  in  the  slave-holders  through  their  laws  to 
start  such  a  scruple  in  the  national  soul." 

Nothing  could  be  plainer  than  that  the  speaker  had 
such  a  scruple  in  his  own  soul,  which,  hitherto  dumb, 
was  beginning  to  have  faint  traces  of  a  voice.  Cudjo 
started  a  little,  and  set  his  head  anew ;  such  a  con- 
fession he  had  never  heard  from  his  employer  before. 

The  stranger,  whose  face  had  become  quite  grave, 
quickly  picked  wp  the  thread  of  the  talk,  and  said 
with  slow  emphasis :  "Yes,  it  is  madness.  But  have 
vou  never  observed  that  Providence  has  a  hand  in  such 


96  THE    TREEBURGERS. 

madness,  and  is  working  out  some  design  which  is  dis- 
guised in  the  fool's  mask  of  Time?  Not  the  Brutus 
alone  feigns  insanity  in  this  world  ;  the  Spirit  of  the 
Ages  loves  to  disport  himself  in  the  crazy  motley  of 
events,  and  seems  to  say  and  do  in  iron}^  just  the  op- 
posite of  what  he  intends." 

**  What  is  that  design?  "  asked  the  Judge. 

The  stranger  threw  back  his  head  with  the  air  of  a 
conjurer,  who  is  for  once  going  to  deal  plainly  and 
show  his  trick,  but  in  revealing  his  skill  he  mystifies 
his  audience  the  more  completely.     He  answered : — 

"  T  shall  tell  you  in  all  distinctness;  it  means  the 
freedom  of  the  slave." 

Cudjo  could  not  have  more  suddenly  jumped  if  he  had 
been  struck;  his  woolly  pate  dodged  as  if  he  had  been 
shot  at.  He  evidently  had  been  touched  somewhere 
unexpectedly.  But  he  soon  came  back  to  his  stooping, 
reverential  posture,  prepared  to  hear  the  rest  of  his 
race's  evangel  from  the  lips  of  the  strange  prophet. 

The  Judge  was  too  much  occupied  with  himself  to 
hear  the  slight  noise  produced  by  these  antics  of  the 
negro  behind  his  back ;  nor  did  the  last  utterance  of 
the  stranger  turn  aside  the  strong  current  of  his  feel- 
ings. His  excitement  brought  on  a  fit  of  coughing, 
whose  violence  made  his  thin,  pale  face  turn  crimson, 
and  caused  his  eyes  to  fill  with  water,  which  he  cleared 
away  with  his  handkerchief.  He  raised  his  arm  con- 
vulsively and  brought  it  down  with  force : — 

"  Cursed,  I  say,  be  the  wretched  man-stealers,  who 
first  took  the  African  from  his  native  shores  and 
brought  him  to  our  country,  to  be  an  everlasting 
source  of  discord." 


AROUND    HENRY    FIRESTONE.  97 

Cudjo  showed  a  streak  of  disapproval  in  his  black 
face  at  this  declaration  of  his  employer;  his  look 
seemed  to  crj^  out  that  he  was  here  where  the  Powers 
had  put  him,  and  where  he  ought  to  be,  and  where  he 
intended  to  stay.  But  his  glance  lightened  as  he 
turned  to  the  stranger,  who  was  beginning  to  speak : 
"  It  was  mean,  unjust,  inhuman  ;  still,  in  this  basest  act 
of  history,  I  would  fain  believe  that  we  shall  yet  see 
not  only  the  hand,  but  the  entire  form  of  Providence 
reaching  through  and  taking  shape  incorporate  in  the 
Ages.  Can  we  not  even  now  behold  a  people  put  into 
the  bitterest  training  of  Time  —  a  black  people,  who, 
in  the  sweep  of  centuries,  are  to  return  to  their  ancient 
home,  the  Dark  Continent,  bearing  thither  the  torch  of 
civilization?  '* 

The  Judge  replied  with  some  asperity :  ' '  Then  your 
Providence  is  now  setting  America  on  fire  that  Africa 
may  at  some  future  time  have  light.  I  say  it  is  the 
Devil  kindling  his  infernal  pit  in  our  midst." 

These  words  struck  the  key-note  to  a  new  tune  in 
the  stranger,  who  could  not  resist  his  demonic  bent, 
but  retorted  in  lurid  irony:  — 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  Devil ;  he  is  going  to  make  a  bonfire 
of  both  continents,  and  compel  the  whole  human  race 
to  dance  to  his  hellish  orgies  in  the  flames.  Can  we 
not  smell  the  brimstone  already?"  To  which  question 
that  mighty  olfactory  organ  of  his  curled  up  and 
snuflfled  in  picturesque  response.  After  this  sulphur- 
ous outburst  our  prophet  dropped  his  diabolic  humor, 
and  continued  in  his  milder  vein: — 

"  I  asserted  no  fact,  I  simply  made  a  conjecture 
which  sought  to  account  for  the  presence  of  the  Afri- 

7 


98  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

can  among  us.  There  is  a  reason,  in  the  grand  system 
of  the  world's  events,  why  he  was  taken  from  his  home 
and  brought  hither  to  dwell  in  this  land,  in  the  ad- 
vance guard  of  the  march  of  human  improvement.'* 

The  Judge  interrupted:  "  I  can  give  a  plainer  and 
better  reason  ;  he  was  stolen  by  the  greed  of  men 
and  enslaved  for  their  gratification." 

"  Does  man's  greed  then  rule  the  universe?  " 

*'  It  gave  us  the  negro." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  stranger,  in  tone  and  mien  of 
great  gravity,  "  I  grant  that  such  is  the  human  motive, 
but  the  chief  question  is.  What  is  the  divine  motive? 
Every  human  deed,  especially  the  far-reaching  historic 
deed,  is  spun  by  two  strands  ;  the  one  is  the  intention  of 
the  doer,  often  selfish,  base,  weak  ;  the  other  is  the  pro- 
vidential purpose,  often  invisible  for  centuries,  but 
always  good.  Even  the  wise  man  may  not  see  its  good- 
ness, but  he  always  must  believe  in  it  and  act  upon  it. 
Be  assured  the  Lord's  sweep  in  the  cycle  of  Time  is 
far  greater  than  the  Devil's  —  must  in  the  end  include 
it ;  what  is  narrow,  weak  and  wicked  in  man,  is  always 
overtaken  and  strangely  transfigured  into  the  supreme 
order." 

Cudjo  stood  and  gazed  at  the  stranger  with  a  look 
of  far-off  wonder.  But  he  could  hardly  have  had  the 
man  definitely  in  his  eye ;  his  vision  floated  away 
vaguely,  as  if  he  too  sought  to  peer  down  the  long 
vista  of  futurity,  which  suddenly  seemed  to  open  to 
him  and  his  race  in  boundless  expanse.  He  turned 
his  black  face  up  toward  the  sky,  the  eastern  sky,  and 
gazed  at  it  steadfastly,  as  if  he  would  penetrate  it,  and 
see  into  the  Beyond. 


AROUND    HENRY    FIRESTONE.  99 

The  silent  listener  of  that  company  was  young  Henry 
Firestone,  to  whom  both  disputants,  by  many  a  lool?, 
unconsciously  appealed  in  their  discussion.  The 
stranger's  talk  became  more  and  more  fascinating,  till 
at  last  the  youth  was  ready  to  regard  him  as  altogether 
infallible,  though  the  spell  was  felt  to  have  always  in 
it  something  forbidden  ;  it  was  a  witchcraft  that  came 
not  under  the  law,  though  it  might  not  defy  the  law. 
The  charm  had  never  been  experienced  before  by 
Henry  ;  he  yielded  to  it  in  a  kind  of  rapture.  He  felt 
graduall}"  the  harmonious  mood  return  ;  in  his  soul  the 
thought  of  the  strange  Pedestrian  had  begun  to  unite 
in  sweet  accord  with  the  song  of  the  old  Fiddler,  and 
both  men  marvelously  blended  into  one  voice. 

The  Judge,  too,  had  received  some  schooling  by  the 
conversation,  though  under  obstinate  protest ;  in  spite 
of  his  facing  the  other  wa}^  he  had  been  suddenly 
borne  forward ;  he  was  compelled  to  take  a  small 
sweep  around  the  world,  while  looking  persistently  in 
the  opposite  direction.  He  quickly  returned,  however, 
to  himself,  whom  he  found  asking  this  question :  — 

"  Do  you  believe,  then,  that  whatever  is,  is  right?  " 

*' Right  is  right  and  wrong  is  wrong,"  said  the 
stranger,  who  now  in  his  own  nature  seemed  to  assume 
the  mien  and  function  of  the  High  Priest.  "  But," 
he  continued,  "I  do  see,  and  all  ought  to  see,  that  the 
greatest  blessings  which  history  has  recorded,  have 
had  to  pass  through  a  training  of  injustice,  wicked- 
ness, madness ;  truth  has  had  to  assume  the  garb  of 
error,  even  to  be  truth  ;  right  has  often  been  compelled 
to  disguise  itself  in  the  mask  of  wrong,  in  order  not  to 
be  driven  out  of  the  world ;  again  and  again  has  wis- 


100  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

dom  put  on  the  motley  of  the  fool,  that  it  be  wise. 
And,  thou,  blessed  angel,  heaven-descended  Goodness, 
seemest  also  to  need  a  little  discipline  in  order  to  pur- 
ify thyself  of  thy  dross ;  and  thy  soul  incorporate, 
the  Son  of  Man,  had  to  be  tested  by  fire  in  order  to 
show  to  the  world  that  virtue  is  not  made  of  inflam- 
mable stuff.  O,  friend,  peep  under  the  dark  veil  of 
circumstance  and  read  there  the  letters  of  light. 
Happy,  thrice  happy,  the  eye  that  can  behold  in  man's 
night  the  distant  glimmer  of  God's  dawn!  " 


These  wild  flashes  of  far-reaching  fore-ordination 
had  not  yet  died  away,  when  the  notes  of  a  violin  rose 
softly  from  the  distance,  and  rolled  in  low,  harmon- 
ious wavelets  of  sound  through  the  loud  talk  of  the 
stranger,  giving  to  the  same  a  kind  of  musical  accom- 
paniment. The  strain  seemed  to  wind  into  his  spoken 
words,  or  rather  into  the  thoughts  he  had  uttered,  and 
to  make  them  move  to  a  tune,  after  his  voice  had 
ceased  for  several  minutes.  All  looked  around  to  dis- 
cover whence  the  music  came,  but  nobody  was  seen. 
Cudjo  could  not  help  giving  his  feet  a  shuffle  in 
response  to  the  time.  Henry  at  once  had  in  mind  the 
old  singer  with  the  instrument,  in  fact  he  had  been 
thinking  of  the  latter  during  much  of  the  conversation. 
The  youth  hardl}^  knew  at  first  whether  it  was  an  actual 
sound  or  his  own  imagination.  But  as  the  rest  of  the 
company  had  evidently  heard  it,  he  inferred  that  it 
must  be  a  reality.     He  stepped  aside  and  looked  more 


AROUND    HENRY   FIRESTONE.  101 

carefully,  but  the  notes  had  stopped  aud  their  origin 
remained  undiscovered. 

The  Judge  stood  a  moment  listening  to  those  melo- 
dious sounds,  then  whirled  about,  as  in  self-reproof  for 
havin<r  done  so  foolish  a  thins:.  He  bes^an  shakinor  his 
head  at  the  stranger  and  hacking ;  he  did  not  try  to 
say  anything,  but  with  a  look  of  polite  impatience,  he 
turned  away  as  if  he  intended  to  leave  such  a  strangely 
haunted  locality.  It  was  plainly  not  to  his  taste  ;  he 
was  in  a  protest  with  it,  nay,  with  himself  ;  he  proposed, 
somehow,  to  run  off  from  both.  But  as  he  glanced 
around  in  the  other  direction  and  made  a  move  to 
leave,  Cudjo  stood  before  him  ;  the  Judge  could  not 
hide  his  surprise  that  the  African  should  spring  into 
his  vision  just  at  that  moment.  Cudjo  was  still  gaz- 
ing dreamfully  into  the  distant  sky,  and  hearing,  ap- 
parently, the  unseen  music  ;  the  look  of  his  employer 
had  not  been  able  to  call  him  back  to  this  side  of  the 
world.  The  Judge  actually  stumbled  upon  him,  and 
felt  the  thump  of  a  bodily  collision  with  him,  exclaim- 
ing somewhat  testily  :  —    . 

"  What,  Cudjo,  are  you  here,  too?  " 

Cudjo  at  once  fell  out  of  his  dream,  and  struck  the 
solid  earth.  He  straightened  up  with  a  self-satisfied 
grin,  which  heralded  no  small  consciousness  of  his  own 
significance,  and  replied  :  — 

"Yes,  I  am  around  pretty  much  everywhere  these 
days.'' 

The  Judge,  without  paying  any  attention  to  his  an- 
swer, interjected  rapidly  and  somewhat  passionately 
these  words  in  response  to  the  stranger :  — 

"It  is  bad,  all  bad.'* 


102  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

Yet  there  was  something  forced  in  his  utterance.  It 
was  not  himself  altogether  who  was  speaking ;  in  his 
very  impatience  could  be  faintly  heard  the  inner 
protest ;  he  was  in  the  process  of  being  convinced  by 
the  weakness  of  his  own  argument.  An  undercurrent 
of  his  soul  was  going  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  he 
was  fighting  with  all  his  might  against  it.  He  had,  in 
this  one  question,  the  habit  of  drawing  the  blind  of 
passion  over  his  eyes,  and  then  saying  he  could  not 
see.  Again  he  began  to  repeat,  with  still  greater  em- 
phasis, that  defiant  sentence:  "It  is  bad,  all  bad." 
But  his  cough  caught  him  in  the  first  word,  and  would 
hardly  let  him  speak  it;  he  struggled,  and  writhed  for 
utterance,  he  could  only  throw  out  the  little  mono- 
syllables between  violent  paroxysms  which  almost 
pushed  his  e3'es  from  their  sockets. 

But  the  stranger  was  not  to  be  shut  off  so  easily ; 
he  could  not  be  coughed  down.  He  was  evidently 
accustomed  not  only  to  being  opposed,  but  to  being 
not  listened  to  at  all.  He  always  had  himself  at  hand 
to  talk  with,  and  he  deemed  him  a  good  companion. 
But  there  were  two  diligent  listeners  present,  whom  he 
could  carry  off  with  himself  skywards,  and  so  he  con- 
tinued, speaking  still  in  his  priestly  office :  — 

**  Bad  statesmanship  in  peace,  bad  generalship  in 
war  are  tlie  mighty  instrumentalities  of  the  world's 
good.  Error  is  error,  but  there  seems  little  advance 
among  men  without  it ;  for  what  is  an  advance  unless 
it  bean  overcoming  of  error?  It  is  true  that  the  in- 
dividual suffers  in  the  process,  but  just  this  suffering  is 
again  his  reward,  his  chief  blessing;  it  is  his  discipline 
unto  perfect  manhood." 


AROUND    HENRY    FIKESTONE.  108 

The  Judge  braced  his  entire  body,  already  tense  in 
violent  suppression  of  his  cough,  and  then  ejected 
spasmodically  five  more  monosyllables:  "You  make 
the  bad  good." 

The  stranger  calmly  went  on:  "I  may  go  further 
and  say,  a  great  statesman  or  general  may  arise 
at  the  wrong  moment,  and  bring  success  when  there 
ought  to  be  defeat.  A  weak  man  may  be  a  more 
pliant  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the  Supreme  Orderer 
than  a  strong  man.  But  the  crisis  is  only  deferred ; 
if  not  this  century,  then  the  next  will  bring  itup  again  ; 
the  exact  moment  makes  little  difference.  Time  has 
plenty  of  time." 

With  these  words  music  again  arose,  but  nearer 
than  before.  The  sound  of  a  voice  came  with  the  vi- 
bration of  strings,  and  entered  into  the  last  sentence  of 
the  stranger,  interweaving  a  soft,  concordant  melod3\ 
That  voice  seemed  to  declare,  in  reposeful  but  exalted 
strain,  that  Time  has  indeed  plenty  of  time,  and  is  in 
no  hurry,  but  will  keep  well  in  hand  the  steeds  of  the 
Sungod.  But  the  exact  words  could  not  be  caught ; 
they  floated  off  in  melodious  fragments,  leaving  be- 
hind only  the  attunement,  which  was  most  harmonious. 
All  turned  around  to  see  the  source  of  so  much  music, 
which  had  transformed,  for  the  time  being  at  least, 
the  Public  Square  from  the  Arena  of  Strife  to  the 
Place  of  Concord.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  plat- 
form, which  was  still  standing,  they  saw  a  peculiar 
figure  of  a  man  under  a  small  tree  ;  Henry  recognized 
him  at  once  as  the  old  fiddler,  who  soon  ceased  sing- 
ing his  song,  and  then,  after  some  turns,  ceased  play- 
ing his  instrument. 


104  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

The  Judge  had  gradually  stopped  his  argument 
when  he  heard  tlie  music  softly  winding  through  his 
speech,  and  somehow  changing  its  key-note.  He 
paid  more  attention  to  it  than  before  ;  he  seemed  to  re- 
act slightly  from  his  violent  opposition,  and  to  be  cast 
into  a  thoughtful  mood.  There  was  more  calmness  in 
his  manner,  and  his  spasm  ceased,  as  he  looked  into 
the  faces  of  the  two  other  listeners;  the  undertow  in 
his  own  nature  -had  momentarily  seized  him  and  had 
carried  him  backwards. 

Still  the  struggle  in  him  had  not  ended  ;  soon  the 
upper  current  again  caught  him  and  whirled  him  into 
his  former  channel,  while  he  shouted:  "Now  you 
are  making  the  good  bad,  as  you  before  made  the  bad 
good.  Sir,  you  confound  all  moral  distinctions.  I 
cannot  reconcile  such  doctrines  with  my  conscience.** 

The  stranger's  nose  again  lapsed  into  a  flat,  satis- 
fied smile,  as  he  spoke:  "  Friend,  they  are  not  con- 
founded, you  are  confounded.  But  I  am  glad  to  hear 
that  appeal  of  yours  to  conscience  ;  some  days  ago  I 
could  not  have  had  the  pleasure.  Go  now,  I  can  see 
that  you  are  weary ;  when  we  meet  again,  we  shall 
agree  better.  So  much  I  observe  in  you  at  present ; 
you  are  traveling,  not  on  horseback  but  afoot.*' 

At  this  point  Cudjo  delivered  his  message  to  his 
employer  in  words  that  sounded  quite  free  from  the 
African  accent,  full  of  respect,  but  devoid  of  servility. 
Far-darting  gleams  of  thought  and  possibilities  vague 
enough  flashed  through  his  dark  brain,  giving  him  new 
glimpses  of  himself  and  of  his  people.  The  Judge 
proceeded  homewards  at  a  slow,  pensive  gait;  but 
there    was    some  rapid  lightning    racing  through  his 


AROUND    HENRY   FIRESTONE.  105 

bead.  He  was  indeed  exhausted,  and  by  no  means 
sound  in  health ;  he  leaned  more  heavily  upon  his 
cane,  than  when  he  came,  but  he  persisted  the  more 
strongly  in  walking  alone,  without  the  presence  of  any 
body.  With  a  wave  of  the  hand  he  bade  Cudjo  not  to 
follow,  and  soon  vanished  from  the  sight  of  the  three 
persons,  who  continued  to  stand  in  silence  and  look 
after  him. 

Meanwhile  the  old  singer  had  taken  his  place  on 
the  steps  of  the  platform;  he  cast  his  eyes  around  as 
if  he  might  have  some  vast  invisible  audience  before 
him,  to  which  he  was  about  to  address  a  song.  Poor 
man  !  like  many  another  singer,  his  audience  was  in  his 
imagination.  But  that  made  no  difference,  he  was 
geing  to  sing  anyhow;  the  song  was  in  him,  and  it 
must  come  out.  He  placed  his  fiddle  on  his  breast, 
ran  his  fingers  over  the  strings  caressingly,  and  drew 
his  bow.  The  small  company  of  three,  his  actual,  not 
his  imaginary  hearers,  gazed  at  him  in  amazement, 
though  he  seemed  not  aware  of  their  presence.  His 
face  was  turned  toward  the  back  of  the  retreating 
Judge,  who  was  now  out  of  the  reach  of  his  words, 
though  not  of  his  voice.  After  some  preluding  on  his 
instrument  he  sang  one  verse  in  clear  tones,  under  his 
wonted  image  of  the  sun :  — 

I  saw  an  old  man  sink  with  the  sun, 
I  knew  his  day  forever  was  done ; 
Another  old  man  in  the  sunrise  died, 
He  stays  everlastingly  glorified. 

These  lines  stirred  young  Henry  Firestone  into  an 
uncertain   groping  for   their    meaning.     An   obscure 


106  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

versicle  he  thought  it  —  perchance  a  little  shred  of  a 
musical  cloud  caught  out  of  the  distant  skies  some- 
where, through  which  the  singer  was  in  the  habit  of 
roving.  Apparently  it  tried  to  bring  into  contrast  the 
two  old  men  of  Time,  one  of  whom  dies  in  the  sunset, 
the  other  in  the  sunrise.  But  what  doesthat  mean? 
The  youth  asked  his  own  understanding :  "Is  there 
any  covert  allusion  in  it?  The  singer  is  himself  an 
old  man,  but  not  yet  dead  or  dying ;  I  noticed,  too, 
that  he  turned  his  eyes  toward  another  old  man,  the 
vanishing  form  of  the  Judge,  who  is  not  yet  dead  or 
dying." 


VI. 


But  just  at  this  point  Henry's  reflections  were  in- 
terrupted by  the  mad  antics  of  his  two  companions. 
As  Cudjo  saw  his  employer  disappear  behind  the  vil- 
lage trees,  he  felt  a  smart  punch  in  his  ribs  from  be- 
hind, accompanied  by  a  demoniac  chuckle.  He  turned 
around  quickly,  he  beheld  a  changed  man  in  his  pres- 
ence ;  the  face  of  the  seer,  which  he  had  seen  just  be- 
fore, was  passing  rapidly  into  the  face  of  a  clown, 
with  all  sorts  of  wild  fire-works  shooting  through  the 
features.  That  strangest  of  strangers  had  given  the 
thrust ;  again  the  small,  keen  eyes  were  playing  in  and 
out  and  around  in  restless  sparkle ;  little  star-lights, 
red,  white,  even  blueish,  twinkled  out  of  that  lofty 
suspended  chandelier,  his  nose ;  his  countenance  at 
last  became  one  huge  grimace,  while  from  a  cavity  in 
the  center  of  it  a  loud  laugh  suddenly  exploded  into 
the  circumambient  air. 


AROUND    HENRY    FIRESTONE.  107 

The  fact  is,  Cudjo  was  at  first  a  little  startled  at  the 
appearance ;  he  ret-urned  at  once  from  his  African 
wool-gathering,  and  recovered  a  square  position  upon 
the  solid  earth ;  he  saw  the  situation,  and  dealt 
the  man  a  heavy  thump  in  the  region  of  the  mid- 
riff in  reqyital,  with  good  interest,  yet  with  good 
nature. 

The  stranger  seemed  on  the  spot  to  have  renounced 
his  sacerdotal  mien  and  function,  and  to  have  aposta- 
tized to  the  harlequin,  if  not  to  the  devil.  He  at 
once  turned  toward  Cudjo,  who,  after  the  old  Judge 
was  gone,  appeared  to  be  the  source  of  the  magic 
power  which  wrought  this  new  transformation. 

The  two  men  stood  face  to  face,  and  the  stranger 
asked:  "  Cudjo,  you  scamp,  what  business  had  you  to 
run  away  from  your  master?  When  are  you  going 
back  to  the  South  and  stop  this  trouble?  Do  you 
know  you  are  the  cause  of  it  all?  " 

Cudjo  tittered  at  the  man's  appearance  and  words; 
his  vanity  was  a  good  deal  flattered  by  his  important 
place  in  the  world.  His  condition  was  known  to  all, 
and  nobody  molested  him,  though  he  stood  in  the  vil- 
lage as  the  embodiment  of  the  violation  of  the  supreme 
law  of  the  land.  But  he  also  stood  for  something 
else.     He  replied :  — 

"  I'll  go  when  my  master  comes  and  takes  me." 

He  spoke  this  in  a  jesting  way,  as  if  he  thought  no 
such  thing  possible  in  that  community.  One  could 
see  that  he  defied  the  law,  and  the  power  of  the  whole 
country  did  seem  paralyzed  in  his  person.  The 
stranger  pursed  lip  and  brow  into  what  might  serve  as 
a  model  for  a  statue  of  irony  ;  the  negro  imitated  him 


108  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

to  the  best  of  his  ability,  and  both  began  a  dia- 
logue :  — 

"  I  say,  Cudjo,  you  must  go  back." 

*'  I  never  retreat  in  the  face  of  the  enemy." 

"  But,  I  say,  you  raust  go  back." 

"Go  back  where?" 

*'  You  know  very  well,  you  black  crook." 

"You  old  groundhog,"  retorted  Cudjo,  "  come  out 
of  your  hole  into  the  sunlight,  where  I  can  see 
you." 

"  Go  back,"  said  the  stranger,  waving  his  hand  and 
twisting  his  face.  "  Go  back  to  the  South  whence 
you  came  —  to  the  cotton  plantation,  to  the  rice 
field." 

"I  quit  associating  some  time  ago  with  those  peo- 
ple," said  Cudjo. 

"  Well,  then  go  back  feo  Africa." 

"  I  love  my  own  country  too  well." 

"  That  is  your  country." 

"  No,  sir ;  it  is  the  land  of  the  niggers." 

"  What,  you  ebony  rascal,  are  you  not  one  of  those 
persons  you  have  just  named?  " 

"  Have  you  not  found  out  that  yet?  There  is  a  big 
difference  between  me  and  a  nigger,  and  you  will  find 
it  out  some  day." 

"  Then  you  will  not  go  back  to  the  South  nor  to 
Africa  ? ' ' 

"  Too  many  niggers  in  both  places  for  me." 

The  fact  has  leaked  out  and  must  be  here  acknowl- 
edged: Cudjo,  though  he  had  a  high  opinion  of  him- 
self, had  a  low  opinion  of  his  race.  He  made  a  very 
nice  distinction    between  a    negro  and    negroes ;    his 


AROUND    HENRY    FIRESTONE.  109 

mind  had  run  a  sharp  line  of  division  between  colored 
folks  in  general,  and  one  colored  man  in  particular. 

The  stranger,  however,  was  making  a  comedy  for 
his  own  delight  out  of  these  ideas  of  the  darkey ;  the 
contortions  of  his  face  were  not  a  sufficient  vent  for 
his  humor,  he  had  to  use  his  legs  and  feet ;  in  pure 
ecstasy  he  kicked  over  a  bench,  exploiting  his  genius 
with  a  sort  of  Indian  whoop.  Cud  jo  also  gave  way  to 
an  inborn  tendency ;  he  laughed  and  danced  in  tunc, 
giving  the  same  unhappy  prostrate  bench  several 
thrusts  with  his  foot.  Some  wild  spirit  of  nature  had 
taken  possession  of  both  African  and  Caucasian  ;  it 
was  clear  that  they  had  something  in  common  —  pos- 
sibly the  original  kinship  of  savagery. 

The  pair,  in  their  varied  activity,  had  become  sep- 
arated from  Henry ;  he  had  not  participated  in  their 
frolic,  but  had  looked  at  their  capers  with  a  bewild- 
ered smile  at  first,  then  had  withdrawn  a  few  steps  to 
the  side  of  the  old  fiddler,  who  was  sitting  alone 
under  the  little  tree.  The  youth  was  struck  with  his 
complete  isolation  ;  he  seemed  to  be  always  with  no- 
body but  himself.  Yet  the  old  man  knew  of  comrade- 
ship, and  felt  the  need  of  imparting  what  was  in  him. 
He  at  once  recognized  Henry,  and  nodded  in  a  friendly 
manner ;  yet  this  friendliness  seemed  to  do  a  little 
violence  to  his  mood.  There  was  something  lonely 
and  pathetic  in  his  look,  as  if  solitude  might  be  the 
limit  upon  which  his  reason  was  breaking ;  but  he 
nerved  himself  with  an  effort,  he  showed  that  he  had 
the  will  to  master  his  own  fate,  when  little  drops  of 
melody  began  to  trickle  from  his  voice.  The  short 
words  of  a  short  song  were  sung  to  himself  and  for 


110  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

himself  apparently,  in  a  low  lone,  but  with  great  de- 
cision :  — 

The  more  you  give, 
The  less  you  live 

Alone ; 
The  more  you  share, 
The  more  you  are 

Your  own. 

The  old  man  seemed  much  relieved  when  he  had 
sung  the  little  song ;  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  looked  at 
the  unaccountable  pair  who  were  still  in  their  paroxysm 
of  diablery.  He  even  laughed  at  them,  though  Henry 
could  make  nothing  out  of  these  two  strange  charac- 
ters in  their  present  spell.  At  last  they  ceased  for  a 
breathing  time,  and  a  fresh  dialogue  began  :  — 

"  Cudjo,"  said  the  stranger,  "  tell  me  whom  you 
voted  for  at  last  election  ?' ' 

"  I  voted  for  the  winning  man." 

' '  What !  against  your  employer  ?" 

'*  I  did  not  put  apiece  of  paper  into  the  ballot  box, 
but  I  was  on  hand." 

"  Well,  I  think  you  were." 

"And  I  helped  a  little." 

"  Certainly  you  did  ;  and  I  saw  you  slipping  through 
the  crowd." 

"  You  did,  eh?  I  always  moved  in  the  midst  of 
those  men  who  voted  my  way ;  I  gave  them  the 
tickets." 

"  I  noticed  you  all  the  while,  you  rascal ;  I  saw  how 
you  worked  against  the  old  Judge  who  gives  you  your 
bread  and  butter." 

"  He  is  a  good  man.     I  would  do  anything  for  him 


I 


AROUND    HENRY   FIRESTONE.  Ill 

but   one  thing.     In  these    times   persons  must  stand 
back,  and  principles  must  come  to  the  front." 
"Where  did  you  learn  that,  you  monkey?*' 
"  White  folks  have  been  saying  it  a  good  deal  around 
this  part  of  the  country." 

"  And  you  have  learned  it,  and  actually  applied  it?" 
*'  Yes,  I  am  going  to  know  what  they  know." 
"  You  are!  Well,  the  demon  is  in  your  black  hide, 
and  no  telling  in  what  shape  he  will  come  out.  In- 
deed! Know  what  they  know !  I  notice,  too,  that  you 
are  very  careful  in  your  speech,  you  do  not  talk  as 
darkeys  talk,  you  have  dropped  the  negro  dialect." 

"Yes,  I  have  pretty  much  quit  that.  But  it  was 
hard  work  to  make  the  change." 

"Really  you  speak  less  like  a  negro  than  Judge 
Allworthy  himself,  the  well-bred  old  Virginia  gentle- 
man." 

Cudjo  was  tickled  to  the  soles  of  his  feet  by  this 
compliment ;  he  sprang  into  the  air  and  slapped  his 
thigh  in  a  thunderous  African  guffaw :  — 

"  Yes,  I  can  beat  him  in  talk  as  well  as  in  politics." 
So  thought  the  runaway  slave  concerning  his  present 
employer,  and  let  out  his  own  secret  good  opinion  of 
himself.  There  seemed  to  be  danger  of  another 
frenzy  of  glee,  but  the  stranger  was  changing  his 
mood,  and  did  not  respond  to  the  start  given  by 
Cudjo.  He  put  upright  the  inverted,  much-abused 
bench,  and  sat  down  upon  it ;  his  face  began  to  lose 
its  wonderful  display  of  light  and  shade,  and  to  settle 
slowly  into  gentle  ripples,  which  seemed  to  come  out- 
ward as  soft  echoes  of  his  internal  reflections. 

Meanwhile  through  the  loud  laughter  of  the  African 


112  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

the  notes  of  the  singer  penetrated,  and  subdued  it  to 
something  like  moderation.  Very  strange  it  was  how 
those  modest  tones  entered  and  took  possession  of  the 
rude,  boisterous  speech  of  Cudjo.  They  were  what 
one  would  remember,  they  seemed  the  eternal  rock 
around  which  fretted  and  splashed  the  froth  of  the 
ocean.  The  verse  which  cut  through  all  darkness  to 
the  negro's  mind,  and  which  he  long  afterwards  treas- 
ured, ran  somewhat  in  this  fashion:  — 

'*  Take  him  iu  "  is  the  rule,  the  one  rule. 
When  the  Lord  has  charge  of  the  school; 
But  tuition  you  also  must  pay, 
Else  you  would  throw  all  his  schooling  away. 

The  stranger  also  listened  to  the  words  and  seemed 
impressed  somewhat  by  them  ;  probably  they  hastened 
his  transition  out  of  his  grotesque  mood,  which  had 
already  begun  to  wane  through  its  own  excess.  Only 
a  part  of  him  was  buffoon ;  the  whole  of  the  man 
was  something  else.  He  grew  in  earnest  and  asked  a 
serious  question :  — 

*'  Cudjo,  I  desire  that  you  would  honestly  tell  me 
why  you  made  that  change  in  your  way  of  speaking?  " 

"  I  wish  to  talk  like  white  people." 

"A  little  while  ago  you  wished  to  know  what  white 
people  know  ;  now  you  wish  to  talk  as  they  talk.  Are 
you  not  aware  that  this  takes  away  one  of  the  distinc- 
tive marks  of  your  race?  " 

"  I  wish  to  take  them  all  away,"  said  Cudjo. 

"  But  if  all  these  things  happen,  are  you  not  afraid 
that  you  will  lose  the  glossy  dark  color  of  j^our  skin? '' 

This  was  undoubtedly  spoken  in  jest,  but  Cudjo's 


AROUND    HENRY    FIRESTONE.  113 

whole  demeanor  changed  on  the  spot.  He  dropped  his 
chuckle,  his  face  darted  into  lines  of  deep  seriousness, 
he  stiffened  into  an  erect  posture,  he  spoke  not  only 
with  gravity  but  with  awe,  showing  that  some  chord 
hitherto  carefully  hidden  had  been  sharply  struck  by 
the  fortuitous  word.  There  was  a  sudden  flash  in  his 
eye  as  if  he  had  made  his  resolve  ;  he  leaned  over  and 
whispered  in  the  ear  of  the  stranger,  yet  his  utterance 
was  loud  enough  for  the  bystanders  to  hear :  — 

"  I  believe  that  is  just  what  is  going  to  happen." 

"Are  you  in  earnest?     Your  skin  is  to  be  changed?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  mean." 

"Impossible  dream." 

The  darkey  now  threw  his  head  up  with  a  courageous 
air  and  spoke  in  the  purest  Anglo-Saxon  accent:  — 

"  I  expect  to  become  a  white  man." 

He  turned  around  with  a  proud  bearing,  and  walked 
away  in  the  majestic  silence  of  his  own  thought,  leav- 
ing the  company  to  reflect  upon  his  words,  which  had 
revealed  an  aspiration  hitherto  unknown  in  the  breast 
of  the  black  man.  Yet  Cudjo  was  apparently  a  full- 
blooded  African ;  his  complexion  showed  little  of  that 
bleaching  process,  to  which  so  many  of  his  race  have 
been  subjected  in  their  Southern  discipline.  But  his 
longing  to  be  white  seemed  great  in  proportion  to  his 
distance  from  it. 

Cudjo' s  prophetic  aspiration,  however,  was,  by  its 
own  force,  working  a  great  change  in  his  neighbor, 
the  strange  pedestrian.  The  latter  was  again  putting 
on  the  priestly  look,  in  response  to  the  nevv  voice  he 
had  heard,  not  merely  from  Cudjo,  but  from  Time 
itself. 


114  THE   FREEBURGERS. 


VII. 

Another  curious  fact  we  have  to  chronicle  at  this 
point :  the  old  singer  hitherto  so  deep-toned,  so  over- 
borne with  destiny,  seems  to  grow  humorous,  nay  gro- 
tesque, in  a  mild  fashion.  He  had  heard  what  Cudjo 
said,  he  gave  a  little  low  laugh  at  the  wonderful  ideas  of 
the  darkey.  His  face  for  the  first  time  broke  from  its 
calm  austerity  into  certain  playful  lines ;  he  twitched 
his  features  into  a  suppressed  smile,  and  adjusted  to  his 
shoulder  his  violin.  In  this  passing  mood  he  dropped  a 
verse :  — 

Be  not  more  dainty  than  your  race, 

For  you  cannot  dismiss  it; 
Your  mother  Earth  has  a  dirty  face, 
And  you  will  have  to  kiss  it. 

The  company  found  the  words  amusing,  and  Henry 
laughed  with  the  others  ;  he  did  not  fail  to  see  the  comic 
side  of  the  world,  though  he  was  somewhat  wanting  in 
the  sense  of  humor,  which  had  been  overwhelmed  in 
his  lofty  sense  of  dignity.  The  old  man  still  retained 
his  furtive,  playful  smiles,  which  ploughed  through  his 
wrinkled  face  in  all  directions,  and  sowed  a  bright 
crop  of  joy.  The  discovery  was  made,  even  by  himself, 
that  he  could  laugh.  He  could  not  help  indulging  in 
one  or  two  innocent  grimaces,  which  were  indeed  infan- 
tile, compared  to  those  of  the  stranger.  In  this  state  of 
mind  his  mood  culminated,  as  usual,  in  a  short  rhyme : — 

If  you  would  find  the  Devil  in, 

You  must  look  beneath  his  skin, 
For  the  new  Devil  grows  as  fast 
As  the  old  Devil's  hide  is  cast. 


AROUND    HENRY   FIRESTONE.  115 

Surely  the  singer  is  growing  a  little  sulphurous  in 
his  turn,  and  is  associating,  in  poetry  at  least,  with  de- 
mons. In  his  words,  and  even  in  his  actions,  there  is 
a  faint,  weird  echo  of  something  we  have  already  seen 
in  the  stranger.  But  the  latter  is  now  in  a  different 
vein,  3'et  with  touches  of  his  old  self.  He  had  heard 
the  two  preceding  verses,  but  they  could  not  derail 
him  from  his  own  thought.  He  was  in  the  process  of 
being  transformed  into  anotlier  side  of  his  nature ; 
the  prophetic  element  in  him  began  to  be  again  upper- 
most, yet  with  lurid  flashes  from  his  diabolic  star. 
He  looked  at  Cudjo  walking  away  with  a  lofty  stride 
of  conscious  manhood,  and  vanishing  slowly  into  a 
stable  in  the  distance.  Then  he  broke  out  into  the 
following  soliloquy,  which  somehow  attached  itself  as 
a  pendant  to  the  old  singer's  last  verse :  — 

"  Thou  to  become  a  white  man !  Just  because  thou 
art  so  low,  and  we  so  high  above  thee ;  just  because 
thou  art  so  near  the  beast,  does  the  world  turn  upon 
thy  elevation,  must  do  so,  if  there  be  in  it  an}^  good 
seed  for  tlie  future.  Not  for  those  already  aloft  is  civ- 
ilization laboring  and  groaning  in  gigantic  throes ;  it 
must  make  the  low  into  the  high,  transform  the  bestial 
anthropoid  into  the  rational  man.  But  no  sentiment, 
no  false  humanity !  the  negro  is  a  negro,  and  because 
he  is  a  negro,  comes  the  duty.  No  windy  declamation 
on  universal  liberty,  no  saying  that  he  is  free  and 
self-controlling,  then  there  were  no  task." 

Thus  spake  the  stranger,  turning  over  in  his  mind  that 
marvelous  prophecy  of  the  African,  which  had  roused  the 
prophetic  fury  in  him  too.  Stretching  forth  his  long  arm, 
and  raising  himself  up  to  his  full  stature,  he  continued :  — 

"Miserable  Ethiopian!  poor,  worthless  devil!   the 


116  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

lowest  of  the  human  type,  the  nearest  a  brute  —  a 
progressive  monkey,  perchance,  who  has  but  recently 
left  off  wearing  his  tail,  and  is  just  beginning  to  walk 
squarely  on  his  hind  legs !  we  despise  thee,  thou  art 
of  an  inferior  race,  unworthy-  of  freedom,  incapable  of 
its  institutions,  a  dead  weight  on  civilization  —  and 
3'et  it  is  just  the  function  of  the  World's  History 
to  get  thee  out  of  thy  condition,  and  to  make  thy  pro- 
gress one  with  ours.  Son  of  scorn  and  servitude,  say 
what  we  may,  thou  art  the  center  around  which  all 
this  mighty  tumult  of  spirit  is  raging;  the  Powers 
have  put  thee  right  into  the  heart  of  the  Time,  without 
thy  consent  or  ours ;  the  destiny  of  the  nation,  the 
destiny  of  humanity  at  this  moment  is  circling  around 
thy  black  skin,  and  will  bleach  it  in  rivers  of  heart's 
blood.     Indeed  thou  art  to  become  a  white  man." 

After  hearing  this  rhapsodical  prediction,  the 
singer  again  turned  his  venerable  countenance  into  a 
racing  ground  for  smiles,  which  pursued  one  another 
rapidl}^,  and  often  broke  into  a  low  laugh.  Were  they 
tokens  of  delight,  or  visible  signs  of  doubt?  It  was 
hard  to  tell.  He  seemed  to  be  thinking,  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  catchr  the  key-note:  several  times  he  raised 
his  bow,  then  let  it  fall  again  without  touching  the 
strings,  being  not  yet  quite  ready ;  finalh^,  he  stood 
up  and  chanted  without  acompaniment  the  following 
verse : — 

The  black  man  must  wash  as  well  as  the  white, 

'Gainst  filth  the  Ethiop  too  has  a  ri.2;bt; 

Though  colored  like  pitch  he  need  not  be  mean, 

He  is  all  of  himself  only  when  he  is  clean; 

See  now  the  magic  effect  of  pure  water! 

The  black  man  is  blacker,  the  white  man  is  whiter. 


AROUND    HENRY   FIRESTONE.  117 

If  not  to  the  listener,  at  least  to  the  old  fiddler, 
we  may  suppose,  the  last  line  ran  the  burlesque  into 
the  rhyme,  and  banged  the  entire  idea  with  a  discord- 
ant jingle-jangle,  like  an  untimely  blow  on  the  kettle- 
drum at  the  end  of  a  piece  of  orchestral  music.  But 
the  effect  of  the  whole  was  that  the  two  imen  began  to 
discover  each  other ;  each  had  gotten  a  peep  into  the 
other's  world,  and  had  seen  a  familiar  spirit  vanish 
swiftly  into  clouds. 

The  stranger  fi'rst  drew  near  to  the  singer ;  in  form, 
in  features,  even  in  dress,  no  two  persons  could  ap- 
pear more  unlike.  Yet  both  had  the  air  of  wanderers, 
of  beings  who,  like  the  birds  of  the  air,  have  to  fly  from 
place  to  place  in  their  unseen  quest.  It  was  plain  that 
there  was  at  first  between  them  a  decided  repulsion. 
They  seemingly  did  not  wish  to  know  each  other ;  the 
outward  behavior  of  the  two  men  was  mutually  dis- 
cordant ;  each  soul  was  walled  up  against  the  other,  and 
shot  arrows  of  disdain  from  the  walls.  But  somehow 
they  stayed  in  range  of  the  eye,  and  cast  glances  into 
each  other's  faces,  which  played  through  a  whole  cycle 
of  character.  Suddenly  the  old  man  gave  a  start  of 
surprise,  as  if  he  beheld  some  familiar  feature  in  the 
countenance  before  him  ;  then  he  di'ew  back  as  if  he 
had  lost  it  again.  The  stranger  observing  this  action 
gave  a  close,  keen  glance  into  that  face  of  wrinkled 
sunbeams;  he  seemed  to  ask  himself  a  silent  question, 
then  he  stepped  backward  a  pace  in  doubt.  They 
appeared  to  have  recognized  each  other  in  some  fleet- 
ing trick  of  expression,  which  again  vanished,  and 
left  each  in  his  own  separate  fortress.  They  wheeled 
aside   to    go   off,  but  they   did    not  start,  something 


118  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

held  them  together.  Not  a  word  they  spoke ;  they 
were  too  far,  and  yet  too  near,  to  speak.  After  turning 
away  for  awhile,  they  slowly  bent  around  and  glanced 
at  each  other  anew ;  there  was  the  common  gleam  of 
the  eye,  both  faces  were  lit  by  the  glow  of  recognition, 
the  inner  walls  were  thrown  down,  and  the  two  men 
rushed  together.  Still  both  were  silent ;  each  had  pen- 
etrated for  a  moment  the  other's  world,  and  was  awed 
by  the  presence.  Still  not  a  word  ;  the  stranger  again 
threw  a  sharp,  intense  look  into  the  old  man's  coun- 
tenance, as  if  to  shear  through  the  remaining  darkness ; 
then  he  settled  back  and  exclaimed :  — 

* '  Oh  Johnny  Apple-seed. ' ' 

The  old  man  raised  his  finger  to  his  lips,  and  whis- 
pered : 

*'  Hush!  Speak  it  not." 

He  took  up  his  instrument  and  started  to  leave  the 
spot ;  his  face  for  the  first  time  showed  signs  of  vex- 
ation, his  harmonious  mood  was  now  at  an  end  ;  it  was 
clear  that  no  more  poetry  would  flow  from  him  that 
day.  The  stranger,  with  a  puzzled  look,  gazed  at  him 
for  a  moment,  then  went  off  in  a  different  direction. 
Henry  Firestone  was  left  alone,  he  stood  the  silent 
master  of  the  field. 


CHAPTER   FOURTH. 


IN  THE  HOUSE  OF  THE  FIBE STONES. 


"No,  I  cannot  see  why  Herman  does  not  let  his  son 
go ;  it  is  the  only  way  the  boy  can  make  anything  of 
himself.  For  years  he  has  had  the  thought  in  his  head, 
I  know  ;  he  told  me  of  it  at  a  period  when  he  dared  not 
speak  of  it  to  his  father.  It  is  time  for  him  to  start ; 
he  must  be  off,  I  say  he  must  be  off." 

So  spoke  Au#t  Polly,  with  a  good  deal  of  decision, 
which  went  out  not  only  into  her  words,  but  added 
vigor  to  her  work.  She  was  just  then  setting  in  order 
an  ancient  book-case,  whose  contents  were  chiefly  made 
up  of  school-books,  well  worn  and  much  marked,  be- 
longing to  tlie  present  generation  of  children.  Yet 
there  were  several  very  old  volumes,  pushed  off  into  a 
corner,  and  forming  a  small  group  by  themselves  ;  they 
were  written  in  foreign  tongues  with  strange  letters 
which  nobody  in  the  household  could  read.  Ances- 
tral names  seemed  to  be  stamped  on  some  of  them,  and 
one  bore,  on  its  title-page,  a  picture  like  an  armorial 
design.  Between  these  oldest  and  newest  sets  there 
were  no  books  of  the  intermediate  period,  except  a 
large  morocco- bound  Bible,  which  had   already  been 

(119) 


120  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

nearly  a  century  in  the  family,  according  to  an  early 
entry.  Apparently  a  distant  generation  had  reached 
over  the  stream  of  time  to  the  present  generation,  and 
had  united  with  it  in  a  common  trait,  that  of  reading 
and  possessing  books. 

Aimt  Polly  continued  her  soliloquy  in  the  same  vein, 
growing  somewhat  more  vigorous  both  in  her  speech 
and  in  her  muscles.  Her  thoughts  were  an  echo  of  a 
conversation  she  had  had  that  morning  with  her  brother, 
Mr.  Herman  Firestone,  whom  we  have  already  known 
as  a  prominent  citizen  of  Freeburg  ;  to  this  information 
we  may  now  add,  that  he  was  a  respectable  retailer  of 
dry  goods  to  town  and  country.  His  career,  on  the 
whole,  had  been  an  unambitious  one,  though  not  with- 
out varied  turns  of  fortune.  Many  years  before  he 
had  emigrated  to  the  West  with  his  father,  when  the 
country  was  a  wilderness,  and  had  established  a  small, 
but  prosperous  business.  On  the  dedlase  of  his  wife, 
his  sister,  affectionately  called  in  the  domestic  circle 
Aunt  Polly,  had  taken  charge  of  his  household  and  four 
children,  with  the  warm  devotion  of  a  mother,  and 
with  the  cool  discretion  of  a  step-mother,  of  both  of 
whom  she  filled  the  place. 

She  stopped  her  dusting  for  a  moment,  and  looked 
steadfastly  at  the  old  books,  saying :  "I  think  the  boy 
ought  to  be  allowed  his  bent,  which  is  to  get  an  educa- 
tion. I  know  it  is  in  his  blood,  for  it  is  in  mine.  If  I 
were  not  so  gray,  I  would  go  with  him  mj^self.  I 
would  give  anything,  if  I  could  read  these  old  books  ; 
I  would  try  to  learn  still,  if  there  was  any  chance. 
Not  a  soul  in  the  village,  as  far  as  I  know,  can  unravel 
their  mystery,  and  make  them  speak ;  at  least,  nobody 


IN   THE   HOUSE    OF   THE    FIRESTONES.         12l 

in  my  hearing  has  ever  yet  succeeded  in  getting  them 
to  open  their  lips.  Still  they  belong  in  the  family ; 
some  Firestone  once  could  understand  what  they  said. 
I  can  feel  that  Henry  has  this  desire  in  him  as  strong 
as  it  is  in  me,  though  his  father  laughs  at  it  as  foolish. 
Yes,  the  boy  must  go." 

Thus  she  talked  with  herself,  as  she  took  out  one  of 
those  ancient  volumes  bound  in  hog-skin,  and  dusted 
it  all  around  the  edges,  not  onl}^  with  care,  but  with 
affection.  She  laid  it  down  upon  the  table,  and  ten- 
derly opened  its  lids ;  the  leaves,  dark  and  stained 
with  age,  crackled  strangely  under  her  touch ;  she 
stared  wistfully  at  its  unknown  characters,  which 
seemed  disturbed  in  their  quiet  sleep  of  centuries,  and 
looked  at  her  mysteriously  out  of  night  without  any 
illumination.  A  musty  odor  rose  from  the  page,  she 
shut  the  book  and  put  it  back  into  its  place.  She  laid 
upon  herself  the  special  duty  of  keeping  all  the  vol- 
umes neat  on  the  outside ;  she  had,  in  fact,  rescued 
them  from  destruction  twice  in  the  course  of  her  life. 
She  had  an  instinct  that  they  still  had  some  mission  to 
perform  for  the  family  ;  but  she  never  thought  of  ask- 
ing herself  what  it  was.  When  she  had  put  them  in 
order,  her  eye  was  drawn  to  a  title,  which  she  could 
not  read,  but  which  she  gazed  upon  in  longing  wonder, 
exclaiming :  — 

'*  Yes,  Henry  must  go,  it  would  be  an  eternal  wrong 
to  the  boy  to  defraud  him  of  his  aspiration.  If  his 
father  will  not  help  him,  I  shall  give  him  some  of  my 
money." 

Aunt  Polly  had  a  small  inheritance  of  her  own, 
which  she  used  in  furthering  ambitious  schemes   for 


122  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

her  brother's  children.  She  stood  between  them  and 
the  father,  and  she  believed  more  in  their  destiny  than 
he  did,  often  backing  her  faith  with  her  cash.  It  is 
true  that  they  had  to  show  that  the  money  would  be  a 
good  investment,  as  she  was  naturally  close  in  finan- 
cial matters,  and  a  supreme  economist.  No  toys,  no 
fine  dresses,  no  jewelry  were  ever  paid  for  from  her 
wallet ;  she  could  even  draw  the  line  upon  bread  and 
butter,  if  necessary.  But  when  it  came  to  some 
mental  acquisition  for  the  young  Firestones,  her 
purse-strings  relaxed,  and  dollars  were  ready  to  roll 
out  to  the  number  of  hundreds. 

Yet,  in  this  matter,  she  did  not  act  from  any  con- 
scious purpose;  there  was  in  her  nature  a  hidden 
chord,  which,  though  covered  up  in  herself  and  in  her 
immediate  ancestors,  on  account  of  the  desperate 
struggle  for  life  on  the  frontier,  would  respond  sym- 
pathetically to  the  least  aspiration  for  improvement. 
The  sight  of  the  old  volumes  also  had  the  power  of 
touching  gently  that  secret  chord  and  of  making  it 
throb  with  some  vague,  long-lost  hope.  She  shut  the 
door  of  the  book-case  and  turned  away  with  the 
thought  ringing  through  her  soul:  "Yes,  Henry 
must  go,  he  must  have  the  opportunity  which  I  have 
not  had ;  there  is  something  gone  from  the  Firestone 
family  which  he  is  born  to  recover." 

II. 

Just  then  Trolla  come  bounding  into  the  room, 
with  her  dark  hair  stuck  full  of  flowers,  which  seemed 
so  many  pretty  eyes  looking  out  of  a  background  of 


IN  thp:  house  of  the  firestones.       123 

night.     She  was  the  youngest  member  of  the   house- 
hold, and  scattered  joy  everywhere  from   her  sunny 
face.     The  perfect  openness  of  her  look  was  marvel- 
ous ;  the  lines  running  through  her  countenance  were 
transparent  as  day,  till  they  began  to  pass  outwards  to 
her  black  locks,  when  they  seemed  to  dive  into  mystery. 
She  could  not  be  induced  to  wear  the  ordinary  costume 
of  girls  of  her  age ;  she  always  changed  it  a  little,  ad- 
justftig  the  flounces  and  other  decorations  as  neatly  as 
possible  to  her  body.     She  showed  no   great  love  of 
color  except  in  flowers,  with  which  she   sought  to  en- 
compass herself ;  for  her   dress  she   preferred  white. 
At  work  or  at  play,  she  seemed  always  in  a  low  thrill 
of  song;  even  when  she  spoke  about  the  commonest 
matters,  her  words  fell  into  a  kind  of  musical  rhythm. 
Just  now  her  strain  was  louder  and  more  accentuated 
than  usual ;  Aunt  Polly,  who  had  been  interrupted  in 
lier  soliloquy,  asked  in  some  surprise: — 
"  What  are  you  singing?" 
"  I  do  not  know  what  it  is,"  said  Trolla. 
''  Where  did  you  learn  it?" 
"  I  heard  it  coming  from  the  distance." 
"Do   you  not  know,  child,  who   sang   it?"  asked 
Aunt  Polly,  touched  with  a  little  prick   of  curiosity, 
possibly  of  superstition. 

"It  was  an  old  man  under  the  Tall  Apple  Tree." 
"  But  you  sing   that  song  somehow  as  if   it  were 
your  own." 

"It  lets  my  heart  out,"  said  Trolla,  and  bounded 
off  to  avoid  further  questioning,  as  she  never  liked  to 
give  an  account  of  herself.  The  gift  of  musical  adap- 
tation was  one  of  her  pronounced  characteristics  ;  she 


124  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

had  caught  the  strange  melody  of  the  old  singer,  and 
was  reproducing  it  in  the  notes  of  girlhood.  It  ap- 
l^eared  to  be  the  musical  counterpart  of  herself ;  she 
threw  her  soul  into  the  tune  and  modulation  of  the 
song,  though  she  had  caught  only  chanted  shreds  of 
words  and  notes.  It  seemed  as  if  she  could  com- 
plete quite  fully  what  she  had  but  imperfectly  heard 
on  account  of  the  distance ;  at  least  she  was  able  to 
construct  her  own  musical  entirety  from  those  mftodi- 
ous  fragments. 

She  soon  returned,  still  singing  in  the  former  vein, 
with  a  nosegay  and  with  her  tresses  again  full  of  leaves 
and  blossoms,  for  her  love  of  flowers  was  as  deep  as  her 
love  of  song.  She  was  going  to  trick  out  Aunt  Polly 
with  her  spoils,  but  the  latter  resisted,  being  now  oc- 
cupied with  the  work  of  the  household.  Trolla  could 
not  be  put  off,  but  thrust  herself  in  the  way: — 

"  Here  is  a  posy  I  have  brought  you  from  the  gar- 
den." 

Aunt  Polly  smelt  the  gift,  then  said  to  her:  — 
"  Go  now  and  play  the  little  flower  girl." 
"  Oh,  I  am  getting  tired  of  that  game,  I  must  begin 
to  do  something  else." 

It  has  already  been  stated  that  Trolla,  during  child- 
hood, had  the  habit  of  wandering  from  blossom  to 
blossom,  and  of  talking  to  them  in  a  flower  language 
of  her  own.  But  recently  that  wave  of  music  from  the 
old  singer's  voice  had  overtaken  her  in  her  daily  round, 
and  had  floated  her  off  into  another  world ;  her  floral 
life  had  bloomed  into  a  new  stage  of  development. 
Still,  to-day  she  plucked  the  customary  nosegay  and 
brought  it  to  the  house.     It  was  her  sudden  notion, 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    THK    F1RESTONE8.         125 

after  she  had  let  Aunt  Polly  take  several  whiffs  of  its 
fragrance,  to  place  it  before  the  looking-glass  ;  then  she 
would  turn  aside  and  glance  at  its  reflection,  which 
really  gave  her  more  pleasure  than  the  flowers.  But 
she  was  careful  to  step  far  enough  away  that  she  might 
not  see  herself  in  the  mirror  ;  for  her  own  image  she  had 
an  aversion,  while  she  could  gaze  at  the  image  of  the 
flowers  all  day  with  -never-failing  delight. 

Trolla  was  not  a  child  of  the  Firestones,  she  was  a 
foundling  that  had  been  taken  as  an  infant  and  reared 
by  them  ;  her  parents  and  her  history  were  unknown  to 
herself  and  to  her  benefactors.  She  bad  been  discov- 
ered alone  in  an  emigrant's  wagon  near  the  village, 
along  with  some  household  articles.  She  had  dropped 
out  of  total  night  into  sudden  day  ;  these  two  extremes 
of  her  life  seemed  to  have  passed  into  her  character, 
making  it  a  strange  combination  of  mystery  and  trans- 
parency. Of  all  the  family,  she  felt  the  deepest  con- 
geniality with  Henry,  who,  in  turn,  was  strongly 
drawn  to  her  by  the  riddle  of  her  origin,  as  well  as  by 
her  disposition. 

Trolla,  when  she  first  sprang  into  the  house,  had 
caught  the  purport  of  Aunt  Polly's  soliloquy  ;  still  she 
did  not  at  that  time  say  anything  about  it.  Though 
her  countenance  was  so  clear  and  open,  there  ran  round 
her  upper  lip  a  firm  line  of  secretiveness,  which  kept 
her  tongue  in  submission.  She  hummed  her  new  song 
to  its  end,  she  finished  the  arranging  of  her  flowers,  she 
looked  at  their  image  in  the  mirror,  with  long,  steady 
glances,  as  if  she  was  searching  for  something  in  that 
reflection.     Then  she  turned  away  and  spoke  in  a  grave 


126  THE    FREEBURGEK8. 

tone,  which  might  have  been  called  oracular,  if  she  had 
been  older:  — 

"  Aunt  Poll}^,  Henry  will  go." 

The  old  lady,  who  had  more  than  once  felt  a  shud- 
der at  what  she  thought  to  be  the  demon  in  the  child, 
looked  around  at  her  for  a  moment,  then  asked  in 
amazement:  — 

"  What  do  you  know  about  it?  Who  has  spoken  to 
you  of  that  matter?  " 

Trolla  whirled  around  and  began  to  hum  again,  first 
looking  at  her  flowers,  then  glancing  at  their  image  in 
the  mirror.  While  thus  engaged,  she  interwove  these 
words  among  her  musical  murmurs: — 

"  I  know  nothing  about  what  I  know." 

As  she  spoke  these  words,  she  began  to  dance  and 
spring  through  the  room  in  a  fit  of  great  exultation. 
Some  thought  or  vision  had  apparently  broken  into 
her  soul  for  the  first  time,  and  her  body  was  giving  the 
response.  She  repeated  the  words,  and  repeated  her 
movements,  after  some  strange  dictation  from  within ; 
her  rapture  grew  more  intense,  as  she  gave  herself 
up  to  the  full  sweep  of  the  moment.  That  perfect 
physical  form  took  the  strain  and  responded  to  it  in 
many  subtle  echoes  and  varied  undulations.  Her 
movements  always  flowed  directly  from  nature ;  now 
they  were  a  seen  music,  adjusting  themselves  to  some 
inner  rhythm  of  her  spirit. 

Her  whole  body,  in  fact,  seemed  to  be  passing  into 
something  else ;  it  was  fulfilling  its  presentiment,  and 
was  unfolding  into  its  new  freedom.  There  is  a  su- 
preme moment  of  bloom  in  the  human  being  as  well  as 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         127 

In  the  flower ;  Trolla  was  driving  forwards  to  that 
happy  moment  of  inflorescence ;  her  golden  life  was 
coming  to  a  culmination. 

To  this  transformed  body  was  added  the  musical 
counterpart.  No  one  had  ever  heard  her  sing  in  the 
wa}^  she  now  sang ;  what  she  had  previously  hummed 
in  vague  snatches,  began  to  take  shape  in  continuous 
strains ;  as  she  looked  into  the  mirror  and  beheld  the 
floral  images  there,  they  seemed  of  a  sudden  to  burst 
into  a  song,  and  went  over  of  themselves  into  poetry. 
She  writhed  in  ecstasy,  as  the  melodious  words  came 
forth  from  her  tongue ;  she  had  found  utterance,  she 
was  passing  the  turning-point ;  her  flower-life,  hitherto 
buried  in  its  silent  innocence,  and  satisfied  with  its 
own  bloom  and  fragrance,  was  now  strangely  trans- 
muted into  speech  and  rhythm. 

The  song  seemed  of  itself  to  be  going  through  its 
stages  of  growth  along  with  her,  as  she  kept  repeating  it 
and  putting  it  together  anew.  At  first  it  came  in  frag- 
ments ;  stanzas,  lines,  even  words  floated  through  her 
speech  incoherently  in  a  strange  medley ;  but  tliey  all 
had  some  common  inner  principle,  which  finally  fused 
and  united  them.  In  this  exalted  mood  she  sang  the 
following  verses,  which  meant  much  to  her,  though  it  is 
possible  that  many  grown  people  will  see  in  them 
merely  a  childish  delight  in  rhyming  jingle  and  lilting 
lines. 

Where  did  she  learn  these  verses?  This  became 
a  question  in  the  family.  They  seemed  a  sudden 
revelation  of  her  character ;  she  had  never  been  heard 
to  put  whole  lines  and  stanzas  together  in  this  way 
before. 


128  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

I  only  know  the  music  played, 

And  still  I  hear  it  play; 
I  only  know  a  song  was  made, 

And  still  I  hear  the  lay. 

I  dreamed  a  dream  the  flowers  came. 

And  built  a  lofty  hall ; 
The  Lily  spake  a  little  speech 

That  charmed  the  ears  of  all. 

The  reddest  Rose  was  president, 

And  ruled  the  pretty  throng; 
The  singer  Daisy  gaily  spent 

Her  color  in  a  song. 

The  Morning-glories  did  salute 

The  rising  sun  till  noon; 
The  Honey-suckle  on  her  flute 

Did  play  her  sweetest  tune. 

I  only  know  the  rafters  rang, 

And  still  I  hear  them  ring; 
I  only  know  the  people  sprang, 

And  still  I  see  them  spring. 

Aunt  Polly,  who  was  present  during  this  recital, 
was  not  only  amazed  but  actually  terrified.  She  cried 
out:  "  Trolla,  stop;  you  are  becoming  too  excited, 
I  am  afraid  of  your  going  into  a  convulsion."  But 
the  child  could  not  stop  ;  she  continued  to  leap  about 
the  mirror  in  a  sort  of  frenz}-,  and  sing ;  the  echoes  of 
her  new  inspiration  still  were  rolling  through  her 
whole  being,  and  were  transforming  it  into  musical 
utterance.  Her  soul  was  in  a  a  state  of  resonance,  and 
was  not  able  to  quiet  its  own  vibrations.  Three  verses 
more  had  to  follow,  as  the  prolonged  after-tones  of 
this  strange  spell. 


IN    THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         129 

The  Violet  her  silent  love 

In  tender  glances  told ; 
The  true  Forget-me-not  then  strove 

My  fickle  look  to  hold. 

The  Sun-flower  beat  on  his  big  drum, 

That  sounded  through  the  hall ; 
What  did  they  say,  what  did  they  play? 

Nought  that  I  can  recall. 

I  only  know  the  music  rang, 

And  still  I  hear  it  ring; 
I  only  know  the  flowers  sang, 

And  still  I  hear  them  sing. 

Several  times  afterward  she  repealed  her  little  son^^ 
in  the  presence  of  the  entire  household ;  nobody  could 
tell  where  she  obtained  it.  Search  was  made  among 
some  books  which  contained  poetical  extracts,  but  no 
such  piece  could  be  found.  When  asked  about  the 
matter,  she  either  renaained  silent,  or  said  she  did  not 
know  herself.  Suggestions  might  be  traced  here  or 
there  ;  Trolla  had  heard  Henry  read  many  little  poems, 
of  which  he  was  very  fond  ;  of  these  poems  some  fleet- 
ing, radiant  fragments  remained  in  her  memory,  and 
were  woven  into  the  song.  But  the  whole  seemed 
strangely  beyond  her  years,  and  even  outside  of  the 
supposed  lines  of  her  character,  as  tlie  Firestones  had 
always  understood  it,  or  rather  taken  it  for  granted. 

There  is  no  doubt,  however,  that  the  old  singer  had 
roused  in  her  a  dormant  existence ;  he  had  also  given 
her  a  certain  rhythm  and  melody ;  through  him  she 
had,  in  a -marvelous  way,  felt  her  thoughts  moving  to  a 
tune  which  was  wedded  to  words.     But  the  germ  must 


f30 


THE   FREEBURGERS. 


have  alreadj'  been  in  her  spirit.  Her  life  had  now 
come  to  that  point  at  which  a  great  transition  is  made  ; 
nature  could  remain  no  longer  in  the  bud,  but  broke 
into  the  bloom ;  her  floral  existence,  with  all  its  fra- 
grance, passed  from  its  stage  of  speechless  uncon- 
sciousness into  a  voice  which  sang.  The  gift  is  as 
miraculous  as  anything  upon  this  earth  ;  the  child,  of  a 
sudden,  touches  the  deepest  chord  of  the  heart,  the 
profoundest  thought  of  the  head,  drawing  its  words 
from  the  very  bottom  of  the  well  of  human  experience, 
and  from  the  very  first  gush  of  the  fountain  of  human 
speech. 

Trolla,  however,  still  continued  to  chant  the  verses 
in  her  vehement  manner ;  every  nerve  thrilled  to  her 
notes  and  her  face  glowed  in  response,  though  her 
body  began  to  show  itself  wearied  under  the  lash  of 
her  excited  spirit.  Aunt  Polly  again  cried  out: 
"Enough,  Trolla,  calm  yourself."  But  the  child 
could  not  so  quickly  stop  the  driving-wheels 
of  her  own  soul;  once  again  she  sang,  but  it 
was  now  with  visible  exhaustion.  At  the  end  she 
dropped  down  into  a  chair,  and  her  musical  paroxysm 
ceased. 

She  had  taken  breath  after  her  exertion,  when  she 
rose  and  went  to  a  table ;  there  she  picked  up  a  small 
likeness  of  Henry,  which  she  claimed  specially  as  hers  ; 
she  pressed  it  to  her  heart  with  visible  heavings  of  the 
breast.  She  seemed  more  fatigued  than  ever ;  she 
turned  pale,  as  she  laid  the  picture  down  and  started 
away.  She  look  her  former  seat,  and,  after  a  little 
silence,  she  said:  — 

"  Aunt  Polly,  Henry  will  go.'* 


IN    THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         131 

The  old  lady  directed  an  intense  look  toward  tlie 
child,  and  then  replied  :  — 

*'  You  said  so  once  before ;  but  tell  me,  how  do  you 
know?  " 

The  child  evaded  an  answer,  but  added:  *'  I  shall 
go  too." 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ?  ' ' 

Again  the  child  gave  a  former  reply,  "  I  know  noth- 
ing about  what  I  know." 

Aunt  Polly  changed  both  tone  and  look,  as  she 
glanced  at  Trolla  and  spoke:  "  I  have  heard  you  say 
these  same  words  before,  and  when  you  say  them, 
then  you  know.  And  I  have  already  observed,  O 
strange  child,  whatever  you  permit  Henry  to  do,  that 
he  does,  though  you  have  to  suffer  for  it." 

Trolla  looked  no  more  at  the  flowers  in  the  mirror, 
she  sang  no  more ;  her  head  dropped  in  a  sudden 
twinge  of  feeling ;  the  black  locks  fell  down,  like  the 
dark  veil  of  destiny,  over  her  luminous  face ;  she  ran 
out  of  the  house  to  hide  her  tears.  Along  her  path 
on  the  ground  were  scattered  the  blossoms  which  she 
had  stuck  in  her  hair  O'U  entering  the  house ;  they 
seemed  to  have  budded,  bloomed,  and  withered  that 
hour. 

in. 

The  elder  Firestone  stepped  in  at  the  door,  as 
Trolla  ran  out,  and  with  him  came  Henry,  who  had 
gone  to  meet  his  father,  in  order  to  win  the  paternal 
consent  to  his  departure  for  college.  He  had  felt  that 
day  more  strongly  than  ever  before,  that  he  must  make 
an  attempt  to  reach  out  for  his  vocation,  or  always 


132  THE    FREEBtTRGERS. 

remain  less  than  himself.  The  call  was  loud,  the 
moment  had  come,  and  the  youth  had  to  make  the 
choice  which  is  his  destiny.  Henry  had  a  feeling  that 
he  would  not  dare  stay  in  the  village  another  year  in 
defiance  of  his  own  deepest  self.  But  he  was  afraid 
to  broach  the  matter  to  his  father,  though  he  had 
sought  just  the  present  opportunity,  by  walking  home 
with  the  latter  from  his  place  of  business. 

Aunt  Polly  with  her  sharp  glance,  saw  the  situation, 
and  resolved  to  bring  the  affair  to  a  crisis  just  then 
and  there.  She  had  a  strong  sympathy  with  the  youth 
in  his  aspiration,  and  could  interpret  him  better  than 
any  one  else.  She  looked  up  at  her  brother  and 
asked :  — 

"  Well,  Herman,  do  you  intend  to  let  your  boy  go?" 
"-  He  has  said  nothing  to  me,"  the  father  replied  in 
a  rather  surly,  but  resigned  way. 

Aunt  Polly  keenly  noted  that  the  answer  indicated 
the  yielding  man,  though  he  was  making  a  wry  face  at 
the  necessity  which  compelled  him  to  yield.  She 
clinched  him  and  held  him  fast  in  his  present  attitude 
by  an  important  proposal :  — 

"I  shall  give  Henry  one  hundred  dollars  for  a 
start,  but  you  must  furnish  the  rest  of  the  money." 

The  object  of  all  these  efforts  was,  that  Henry 
should  have  the  means  for  going  to  college,  in  order  to 
complete  his  education.  He  had  cherished  the  plan 
secretly  for  years,  then  he  told  Aunt  Polly  and  gained 
at  once  her  sympathy  and  support.  He  had  been  di- 
recting his  studies  to  this  end  for  many  months ;  he 
sought  help  wherever  he  could  find  it,  but  chiefly  from 
Miss  Winslow,  the  school-mistress,  who  had,  in  fact, 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         133 

prepared  him,  with  a  little  help  from  a  certain  minis- 
ter in  the  town. 

When  the  father  first  heard  of  the  project  from 
Aunt  Polly,  he  treated  it  with  disdain,  nay,  with  wrath. 
Yet  the  elder  Firestone  was  not  a  lover  of  ignorance, 
nor  was  he  ignorant  himself.  But  his  circumstances 
had  cramped  his  amoition  and  narrowed  his  outlook. 
He  hail  risen  to  be  a  fair  business  man,  and  held  a 
high  place  in  Freeburg  ;  he  naturally  expected  that  the 
son  could  not  easily  improve  upon  the  father  either  in 
position  or  in  knowledge.  He  could  not  be  called 
avaricious  —  a  mere  lover  and  maker  ©f^money,  though 
he  was  a  close  spender  of  what  he  had  gained.  Through 
early  poverty,  ill  health,  and  the  severe  training  of  a 
pioneer's  life,  money  ha<l  come  to  mean  to  him  a  great 
deal  more  than  it  ought  to  mean  to  any  man.  Yet  he 
was  a  person  of  extreme  conscientiousness,  violently 
responsive  to  every  wrong  done  to  his  fellow-man. 
If  there  was  one  case  in  which  it  gave  him  no  pain  to 
part  with  a  dollar,  it  was  where  the  recipient  happened 
to  be  a  fugitive  slave.  A  philosophical  vein  was  in 
him,  too;  he  speculated  much  on  religion,  which  he 
entirely  reconstructed  after  a  pattern  of  his  own.  On 
the  practical  side  of  life,  he  made  ends  meet  not  so 
much  by  increasing  his  gains,  as  by  limiting  his  wants. 

Quite  different  was  his  brother-in-law,  as  well  as 
partner  in  business,  who  was  familiarly  called  Uncle 
Jake  in  the  family.  Uncle  Jake  loved  the  useful  to 
madness,  and  the  practical  to  impracticability.  In 
his  eyes  nothing  had  value,  if  on  the  spot  it  could  not 
be  turned  into  something  else  ;  the  grand  principle  of 
all  things  with  him  was  their  convertibility.   Such  a  man 


134  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

can  love  money  as  the  highest  good,  since  its  worth 
lies  in  its  being  exchangeable  for  some  other  thing 
besides  itself.  The  result  follovcd  in  due  time  and 
order:  Uncle  Jake  became  hiraseK  an  exchangeable 
man  as  to  character,  and  Mr.  Firestone,  in  spite  of  the 
relationship,  had  to  exchange  him  for  another  partner. 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  into  business  with  me, 
Harr}^?"  asked  the  father,  making  one  more  turn  to 
release  himself  from  the  grip,  which  he  felt  closing 
upon  him. 

But  Aunt  Polly  was  watchful  and  saw  the  attempt ; 
she  hastened  to  keep  and  complete  the  victory  already 
won.  She  replied  for  the  youth,  as  he  looked  be- 
wildered : — 

'*  I  do  not  believe  he  oui^ht  to  go  into  business  at 
present.     He  has  a  more  important  scheme  on  hand." 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Aunt  Polly,  in  spite  of  this 
answer,  had  a  high  opinion  of  money.  But  she  differed 
much  in  character  from  her  brother ;  she  had  an  ele- 
ment of  aspiration  which  seemed  quite  wanting  to  him  ; 
especially  she  showed  a  strong  sympathy  with  all  striv- 
ing in  young  people.  Apparently  she  had  some  faith 
in  certain  things  which  seemed  useless;  there  were  the 
old  books  which  she  had  kept  so  long  without  their 
subserving  an}-  purpose  ;  also  she  had  obstinately  re- 
tained the  flower-beds,  among  which  Trolla  played  and 
plucked  nosegays,  instead  of  giving  them  up  to  the 
cultivation  of  vegetables  for  the  table.  Yet  this  dif- 
ference never  destroyed  the  harmony  between  brother 
and  sister,  but  rather  promoted  it ;  each  to  a  certain 
extent,  was  the  complement  of  the  other.  A  strong  con- 
necting tie  was  little  Trolla,  the  child  of  neither,  yet 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF   THE    FIRESTONES.        135 

the  ward  of  both;  she  united  them  in  the  common 
bond  of  benevolence,  since  she  had  been  rescued  and 
reared  by  both.  Moreover  her  disposition  had  in  it 
the  note  of  concord  and  peace ;  her  little  deeds  stood 
always  between  the  sharp  edges  of  conflict  and  turned 
them  aside. 

But  Henry  still  remained  dazed  at  the  proposition 
of  his  father.  Aunt  Polly  again  came  to  the  front, 
and  addressed  her  brother :  — 

**  That  is  too  great  a  step  to  be  taken  on  the  spot ; 
leave  the  decision  to  Harry  after  he  has  thought  it 
over.** 

The  youth's  uncertainty  had  a  good  ground.  He 
suddenly  found  himself  at  the  important  point  of  life, 
at  which  he  must  choose  his  career.  The  road  on 
which  he  had  hitherto  traveled,  forked,  and  he  had 
to  take  one  of  two  directions.  He  hesitated  more 
from  surprise  than  from  not  knowing  what  he  wanted. 
He  had  now  a  chance  to  be  all  that  his  father  before 
him  was  —  no  insignificant  place  in  the  community. 
He  could  inherit  position,  name,  and  some  wealth;  he 
could  become  the  influential  guardian  of  transmitted 
acquisitions,  and  probably  add  to  them. 

But  there  was  something  in  him  which  drove  him 
beyond,  he  longer  for  that  indefinite  world  of  thought 
and  action  which  contains  all  possibilities.  He  had 
made  his  choice,  or  his  genius  had  made  it  for  him,, 
long  before  he  was  conscious  that  it  had  been  made. 
Still,  the  question  was  open,  and  he  was  trying  to  bal- 
ance impartially  the  two  sides,  one  of  which,  however, 
far  outweighed  the  other. 

While  in  the  midst  of   this  process,  he  saw  Uncle 


136  THE    FREEBUKGERS. 

Jake  enter  the  yard  and  come  to  the  door.  Uncle 
Jake  knew  something  of  Henry's  aims,  and  at  once 
caught  an  inkling  of  the  matter  under  deliberation. 
He  broke  in  :  — 

"  Harry,  why  don't  you  learn  a  trade,  now  that  you 
have  enough  learning?  " 

"  Who  said  I  had  enough  learning?  " 

"I  say  so." 

Aunt  Polly  took  up  the  talk.  "Nobody  ever  can 
get  enough  of  that." 

Uncle  Jake  replied:  "  Harry  has  more  than  he 
needs  already.  My  boy  Jack  I  have  bound  to  a  shoe- 
maker, and  he  must  begin  his  trade  at  once.  Every 
young  fellow  wants  to  get  a  living  without  work  in 
these  days." 

Uncle  Jake  had  always  shown  a  slight  tinge  of  dis- 
satisfaction with  his  nephews  and  nieces,  the  young 
Firestones.  Their  aspiration  he  somehow  felt,  and 
paid  them  the  compliment  of  his  jealousy.  He  be- 
mocked  them  behind  their  backs,  and  maliciously  ad- 
vised them  to  their  faces.  His  boy  Jack  and  his  girl 
Nancy  were  dull  persons,  uninteresting  and  uninterested 
in  all  striving  for  lio^ht.  In  his  envious  mood  he  held 
them  up  as  patterns,  and  tried  to  drag  the  Firestones 
down  to  their  level.  But  it  took  Aunt  Polly  to  trounce 
him  into  good  behavior.,  not  in  a  rough  way,  but  with 
•keen  humor.  She  pricked  not  only  the  bubble  of  his 
argument,  but  held  up  his  mean  motive  before  his  own 
eyes: — 

"  Why  do  you  want  our  children  to  be  like  yours? 
If  yours  suit  you,  pray  be  satisfied  with  their  success. 
I  believe  in   letting  everybody  make  of   himself  what 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    F1RE8TONES.         137 

he  can  ;  I  would  even  help  him  to  a  chance  of  showing 
what  is  in  him.  If  Jack  is  capable  of  making  a  good 
shoemaker,  let  him  attain  that  height  by  all  means ; 
but  if  Harry  has  the  stuff  in  him  to  become  President 
of  the  United  States,  he  must  have  the  opportunity. 
This  is  a  free  country,  and  big  enough  for  every  bird 
to  make  a  nest  in.  But  the  little  wren  must  not  de- 
mand that  the  eagle  shall  have  no  larger  space  than  it 
has.  Room  for  everything  in  our  land,  but  not  for 
envy.** 

This  was  enough.  With  a  sullen  mutter,  Uncle  Jake 
went  away  with  all  his  good  advice,  saying  that  the 
country  was  going  to  ruin.  "  Herman's  children  too 
are  trying  to  get  a  living  without  work,  and  old  Poll 
eggs  them  on." 

Father,  son  and  aunt  were  left  together  again  ;  all 
sat  for  a  time  in  silence.  It  was  a  case  in  which  words 
could  not  help.  Each  of  the  three  was  in  travail  with 
an  unborn  thought,  and  the  great  midwife,  Time,  had 
not  yet  arrived,  though  urgently  sent  for. 

Young  Henry  Firestone  had  already  given  indica- 
tions that,  in  his  composition,  there  was  a  peculiar  trait 
which  would  not  let  him  settle  down  into  the  businesg 
routine  of  a  country  village,  honorable  though  it  may 
be,  and  not  very  exacting  in  its  demand  on  talent. 
He  had  already  outgrown  his  father's  old  coat,  and, 
though  it  was  generously  offered  to  him,  he  was  not 
going  to  wear  it,  though  immediate  economy  might 
require  some  such  apparel.  He  reached  forwards  to 
an  unrestrained  activity;  but  he  also  looked  back- 
wards, and  drew  a  strange  draught  of  inspiration  from 
the    past.     He    felt  in  himself  some  dim    connection 


138  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

with  an  antecedent  condition,  and  at  last  he  broke  the 
unpleasant  silence  with  a  courageous  assertion :  — 

*'  Father,  I  can  have  no  peace  till  I  know  the  secrets 
contained  in  that  old  book-case.'* 

The  father  showed  a  gleam  of  contempt,  and  then 
spoke:  "  But  how  do  you  know  they  are  worth  know- 
ing?" 

"  One  fact  alone  is  enough,*'  Henry  replied,  "  they 
are  unknown." 

The  father  turned  from  contempt  to  a  touch  of 
anger:  "  I  would  burn  them,  if  that  would  burn  out 
of  you  such  nonsense." 

This  roused  Aunt  Polly,  who  exclaimed:  *'  What! 
burn  books !  and  those  which  do  not  belong  to  you ! 
burn  the  volumes  which  I  have  kept  so  many  years, 
waiting  for  their  true  owner  to  come  and  claim  them  ! 
I  think,  however,  he  will  arrive  at  last ;  they  belong  to 
the  person  of  this  family  who  is  able  to  read  and 
understand  them,  and  to  none  other.  Let  him  come 
and  claim  them,  when  he  can  fulfill  this  condition." 

The  elder  Firestone  felt  the  heat  of  this  reply,  and, 
in  consequence,  he  toned  down  his  feelings  somewhat, 
though  he  had  a  dislike  for,  and  even  a  little  terror  of, 
those  old  books.     He  continued :  — 

'*  It  is  a  collection  of  one  of  my  ancestors,  as  I  have 
heard,  and,  I  suppose,  I  aught  to  show  it  some  respect. 
But  what  have  the  dead  to  do  with  us  living  people? 
What  has  our  country  to  do  with  Europe  or  Asia? 
Those  books  have  been  a  plague  to  me  ever  since  I 
have  had  them ;  I  fear  they  are  my  inherited  curse. 
How  I  wish  the  box  containing  them  had  sunk  to  the 
bottom,  when  I  saw  it  floating  down  the  Muskingum  I 


IN    THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         139 

My  span  of  horses  was  drowned,  many  valuable 
articles  perished,  but  this  old  trumpery  was  saved 
from  the  flood.  It  has  followed  the  family  through 
all  its  migrations,  like  a  demon ;  it  cannot  be  avoided, 
it  cannot  be  destroyed." 

In  spite  of  these  impatient  utterances,  it  was  noticed 
that  Mr.  Firestone  had'  not  denied  the  request  of 
Henry.  Hitherto,  he  had  simph^  scorned  the  proposal, 
whenever  even  Aunt  Polly  had  hinted  it.  At  present 
he  went  off  to  his  business,  and  soon  forgot  the  matter. 

IV. 

Mr.  Firestone,  in  his  talk,  made  an  allusion  to  an 
experience,  which  had  left  a  very  vivid,  and  some- 
what disagreeable  impression  upon  his  mind.  It  was 
the  fording  of  the  Muskingum,  which  remained  long 
in  the  memory  of  the  family  as  a  night  of  terror. 
The  event  took  place  w  hen  the  Firestones  moved  West 
many  years  before.  The  high  waters  of  the  river 
came  down  suddenly,  and  floated  off  the  wagons  with 
people  and  goods.  After  many  thrilling  adventures, 
the  people  were  rescued  ;  but  most  of  the  horses  and 
cattle,  and  nearly  all  the  movables  were  lost.  Some 
of  the  articles  in  the  wagons  were  fished  out  of  the 
stream  with  difficulty,  and,  to  the  last,  certain  pieces 
of  furniture  and  a  number  of  the  old  books  bore  marks 
of  the  angry  waters.  The  river-god  smote'  the  emi- 
grants in  wrath,  and  opposed  their  crossing  into  what 
seemed  to  them  the  promised  land.  Still  they  made 
the  passage. 

The  present  Firestones   had   come    from  Virginia, 


140  THE    FKEKBLIRGERS. 

though  their  earlier  ancestors  were  from  Pennsylvania. 
What  had  not  overtaken  them  in  their  wanderings ! 
Flood  and  fire  and  storm,  even  war  had  pursued  them ; 
their  household  effects  had  been  repeatedly  sold  or 
lost  or  destro3'ed  ;  still,  these  old  volumes  remained, 
faithful  in  their  adherence  to  the  fortunes  of  the 
family.  They  seemed  an  inner  strand  of  it,  woven 
deeply  into  its  destinies.  They  were  regarded  with 
some  degree  of  superstition ;  they  had  the  magic 
power  of  saving  themselves  in  the  midst  of  calamity ; 
the  luck  of  the  family  was  supposed  to  be  m3^steriously 
connected  with  the  ancient  volumes.  Even  the  elder 
Firestone,  in  his  most  petulant  mood,  would  have  shud- 
dered to  destroy  them. 

Henry  was  now  alone ;  he  rose  and  went  to  the 
book-case,  which  had  gradually  come  to  have  a  new 
meaning  in  his  eyes.  He  took  down  one  of  the  old 
volumes,  and  turned  through  its  pages ;  it  was  printed 
in  strange  letters,  which  nobody  in  the  town,  as  far  as 
he  knew,  could  read.  An  inexpressible  longing  came 
over  him  ;  he  wished  to  find  out  what  these  letters  de- 
clared unto  men  ;  it  seemed  as  if  he  could  not  wait,  the 
desire  rose  and  throbbed  in  him  till  his  breast  became 
too  small  for  his  swelling  heart.  He  had  felt  the  sen- 
sation before,  but  it  had  never  been  so  strong  as 
at  present.  Ignorance  was  a  prison  to  him,  and  more 
than  a  prison  ;  it  had  become  a  heavy  weight  that  was 
crushing  'him,  bodih'^   and  mentally,  into   the   earth. 

After  the  first  wave  of  emotion  had  somewhat  sub- 
sided, he  glanced  at  the  unknown  characters,  not 
through  tears,  but  througli  new  joys,  which  held  him  in 
a  spell  of  weird  fascination.     He  had  seen  these  char- 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF   THE   FIRESTONES.         141 

acters  often  since  childhood ;  but  now  it  was  as  if  he 
had  seen  them  long  before  childhood ;  they  somehow 
began  to  antedate  his  conscious  existence,  to  connect 
him  with  something  gone  for  centuries.  The  letters 
became  instinct  with  life,  they  looked  as  though  they 
wished  to  speak  to  him,  but  could  not ;  a  vast  obstacle 
lay  between  the  word  and  the  thought.  Not  that  they 
were  speechless,  but  he  could  not  hear  the  message. 
He  dimly  recollected  that  he  had  heard  one  thing 
about  them :  a  clergyman  once,  on  a  i)assing  visit  to 
the  Firestones,  had  said  that  the  characters  were 
Greek.  How  Harry  longed  to  see  such  a  man  —  the 
interpreter  between  himself  and  the  mysterious 
script!  He  almost  thought  that  he  could  give  his  soul 
for  a  knowledge  of  what  that  hidden  voice  was  saying. 
After  many  glances,  fruitless  but  full  of  despairing 
desire,  he  turned  to  the  front  of  the  book,  where  he, 
for  the  first  time,  noticed  on  the  fly- leaf  a  handwriting 
which  was  almost  obliterated.  The  first  two  or  three 
letters  appeared  very  faint,  and  then  vanished  alto- 
gether under  a  muddy  stain.  It  was  one  of  the  marks 
which  the  high,  turbid  waters  of  the  Muskingum  had 
left  on  the  leaf  in  the  journey  hitherward  ;  it  showed 
one  of  the  blows  Fate  had  aimed  in  vain  at  the  book, 
which,  apparently,  was  not  yet  to  perish.  That  writ- 
ing must  come  out  to  light,  it  was  buried  to  be  resur- 
rectedo  Henry  bethought  himself,  he  ran  and  ob- 
tained some  crumbs  of  bread ;  soon  he  had  rubbed 
away  the  stain.  At  once  the  whole  name  began  to 
come  out  into  clear  day  from  its  dark  tomb,  when 
this  inscription  was  read  :  Ad.  Feuerstein,  Univ.  Wit- 
tenbergiae,  A.  D.  1676. 


142  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

It  was  a  family  name,  though  the  spelling  was 
somewhat  changed.  Henry's  own  name  in  full  was 
Henry  Adolphus  Firestone.  He  felt  he  must  be  con- 
nected with  the  man  whose  inscription  he  had  brought 
to  light;  but  who  or  what  this  man  was,  he  did  not 
know.  It  was  a  new  barrier  which  had  reared  itself 
on  his  path ;  what  the  writing  meant  as  a  whole,  he 
could  not  conjecture.  Still,  he  experienced  a  new 
feeling;  his  personal  connection  with  the  past  was 
brought  home  to  him,  and  stirred  more  deeply  than 
ever  his  aspiration.  That  single  date  beckoned  to 
him  from  a  distant  century  to  come  across  the  tract  of 
Time,  and  make  the  acquaintance  of  his  ancestry. 

Other  books  he  noticed.  There  was  an  old  copy  of 
"  Military  Tactics,"  which  belonged  to  a  Firestone 
who  was  captain  in  the  militia  during  the  war  of  1812, 
and  whose  compan\%  according  to  tradition  in  the 
family,  ran  away  at  the  battle  of  Bladensburg  at  the 
first  fire,  leaving  Commodore  Barney  with  his  marines 
to  fight  the  British  on  land.  An  ominous  book  ;  but 
it  had  been  seized  upon  and  put  to  use  by  Charles 
Firestone,  who  claimed  it  alone  of  all  the  books  as  his 
personal  possession. 

A  little  volume  fell  down  over  the  ' '  Tactics  ' '  when 
the  latter  was  removed,  and  opened  to  a  picture,  drawn 
in  crayon,  of  a  farm-house  in  a  broad  field,  with  trees 
and  shanties  around  the  spacious  dwelling.  Henry 
noticed  the  picture ;  he  knew  also  that  the  volume  was 
his  mother's  prayer-book.  He  closed  it  with  emotion, 
after  glancing  at  the  picture,  and  put  it  back  into  its 
place. 

He  took  down  another  volume,  which  was  written  in 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         143 

German,  and  showed  signs  of  fire;  its  edges  at  one 
place  were  charred  black  and  deep,  as  if  a  live  coal 
had  dropped  upon  them.  There  is  no  doubt  that  he 
looked  at  this  book  with  strong  sympathy ;  there  was 
something  quite  familiar  in  its  old,  strange  letters  as 
well  as  its  strong-lined,  grotesque  wood-cuts.  He  ob- 
served that  it  was  an  odd  volume;  its  companions 
were  nowhere  to  be  found.  He  wondered  what  had 
become  of  them,  and  asked  himself  if  they  would  ever 
be  discovered,  so  that  the  total  set  would  have  its  scat- 
tered parts  re-united.  He  had  a  strong  impulse  to 
search  the  whole  house  for  the  missing  volume  or  vol- 
umes, but,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  he  concluded 
that  such  a  search  would  be  in  vain. 

As  he  turned  to  the  front  of  the  volume,  he  discov- 
ered a  manuscript  of  about  twenty  closely  written 
leaves,  which  he  had  not  seen  before.  It  was  old  and 
stained,  and  firmly  fastened  into  the  binding  of  the 
book,  so  that  it  could  not  drop  out.  The  handwriting 
was  a  total  mystery,  nor  he  could  not  tell  in  what  lan- 
guage the  manuscript  was  composed.  It  seemed,  be- 
ing in  writing,  a  more  direct  communication  than  the 
print.  But  it  was  j^et  more  hidden,  as  he  could  not 
even  make  out  the  letters.  He  turned  over  its  3'ellow, 
fragile  leaves  ;  the  sunlight  fell  upon  it,  and  illuminated 
it ;  still,  it  had  a  clammy  smell,  like  that  of  the  grave. 
It  seemed  to  show,  however,  some  change  under  the 
rays  dropping  upon  it,  and  gave  faint  signs  of  the  joy 
of  resurrection. 

It  was  indeed  a  curious  document ;  not  only  had  he 
not  seen  it  before,  but  he  had  never  heard  of  it.  Henry 
looked  at  it  with  fresh  desire  to  penetrate  its  meaniqg ; 


144  THE    FKEEBUKGEKS. 

the  sun  had  gone  under  a  cloud,  the  humid  odor  of  age 
and  decay  rose  to  his  nostrils  from  the  sheets  of  paper, 
and  an  impenetrable  night  hung  over  the  page.  He 
raised  the  book  to  his  face,  his  whole  inner  nature 
surged  and  swelled  in  a  struggle  with  the  crushing 
limit  which  Time  had  put  upon  him.  He  choked  and 
sobbed ;  a  tear  fell  upon  an  ancient  black  Gothic  let- 
ter and  made  it  swell,  as  if  in  sympathy  with  him ;  but 
It  could  not  be  stirred  to  speech,  even  by  tears. 
Henry  closed  the  lids  and  put  the  book  back  into  the 
case ;  those  lids  seemed  to  shut  up  his  soul  in  a  dark 
prison.  He  felt  in  strong  constraint,  and  narrowed 
for  breath  ;  he  left  the  house  and  walked  forth  into  the 
free  air  for  relief. 


V. 


The  door-bell  rang  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Firestone, 
and  a  well-known  lady  entered,  who  spoke  with  a  set, 
formal  smile  in  her  features,  beneath  which  peeped 
out  an  eye  showing  a  strong  will  in  conflict  with  pride. 
It  was  soon  observed  that  her  polite  words  wreathed 
round  and  hid  a  sharp  lancet,  which  would  often 
strike  out  of  flowers  and  cut  to  the  quick.  She  ad- 
dressed Aunt  Polly :  — 

"  Ihave  come  again  to  see  Henry,  if  he  is  not  en- 
gaged with  his  apple-tree  in  the  Garden  of  Eden." 

It  was  Miss  Hope  Winslow,  the  school-mistress  of 
Freeburg,  who  was  speaking.  She  showed  a  certain 
unassuming  consciousness  of  superiority,  yet  mingled 
with  a  low  undertone  of  disappointment.  She  could 
not  help  putting  into  her  words  a  sly  sting  of  sarcasm, 


IN    THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTOXES.         145 

even  when  she  talked  with  her  best  friends ;  just  as 
Httle  could  she  help  giving  a  soft  vibration  through  the 
nose  to  every  syllable  she  uttered.  She  pronounced 
her  English  with  a  round  full  modulation,  in  note- 
worthy contrast  to  the  flattened  pronunciation  of  the 
West,  where  human  utterance  has  no  hills  in  it,  but  is 
leveled  down  even  with  the  prairie,  and  echoes  dis- 
tinctly triumphant  democracy.  The  faithful  observer 
must  not  omit  to  notice  her  neat,  close-fitting  dress,  in 
all  the  monotony  of  perfect  tidiness  dropping  down 
her  spare  form  in  modest  folds,  with  the  gloss  still 
on  them  imparted  by  the  flat-iron.  Whoever  looked 
into  her  face  was  impressed,  for  it  was  delicately 
sharp,  and  her  nose,  defiantly  rising  out  of  her  feat- 
ures, was  quite  pointed,  and  could  be  turned  into  a 
vigorous  weapon  of  attack.  In  fact,  her  whole  coun- 
tenance was  a  battle-axe  with  the  protruding  spear, 
ever  ready  for  the  onset. 

But  it  would  be  mistake  if  anybody  thought  that 
Miss  Winslow  ever  quarreled,  or  was  discourteous. 
She  never  lost  her  balance  ;  if  she  resorted  to  satire, 
she  was  politely  satirical ;  if  she  destroyed  a  foe,  she 
covered  destruction  with  smiles  and  flowers.  Her 
method  of  working  was  secret ;  her  character  seemed 
to  go  veiled  like  a  nun  along  its  earthly  highway,  not 
for  the  sake  of  dissimulation,  but  for  the  soke  of  ful- 
filling its  call.  Underneath  the  proud,  and  sometimes 
steeled  outer  features,  one  could  behold  lines  of 
tenderness,  and  even  of  love,  converging  toward  some 
hidden  center.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  she  could 
sheathe  that  countenance  of  hers,  with  its  keen  weap- 
ons, in  the    sympathetic    glow  of   charity.     Her  very 


146  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

look  was  a  skirmish  which  might  bring  on  a  war,  but  it 
was  a  war  whose  end  was  peace  in  the  victory  of  right. 
With  the  best  daughters  of  Eve  she  had  disguise, 
which  might  at  times  turn  to  the  superficial  gloss  of 
artifice ;  but  in  this  disguise,  as  in  her  spirit's  house, 
she  lived  her  life  and  did  her  work,  of  whose  far-reach- 
ing importance  the  town  of  Freeburg  to  this  day  shows 
the  signs. 

The  youth,  Henry  Firestone,  for  whom  she  had  in- 
quired, entered  the  room  with  a  salutation  which  in- 
dicated delight,  yet  he  showed  a  little  anxiety  too. 
He  had  experienced  all  her  kindness,  and  he  had  often 
felt  the  sly  touch  of  her  lancet.  If  he  had  some  terror 
of  her,  he  had  also  affection.     He  began :  — 

"  I  am  sorry  I  missed  you  the  other  day.  But  you 
will  be  glad  to  know  that  I  learned  something.  I  wish 
you  could  have  listened  to  an  old  singer  whom  I  heard 
under  the  Tall  Apple  Tree.  He  came  upon  us  suddenly, 
then  he  played  his  instrument  and  sang,  and  I  could 
not  free  myself  of  his  strain.     It  sings  in  me  still." 

Miss  Winslow  replied  with  her  set  smile  turning 
slightly  acidulous :  *'  Indeed !  that  is  a  marvel.  Then 
3'ou  have  learned  something,  and  still  you  do  not  know 
the  meaning  of  it.*' 

Henry  responded:  "  Yes,  I  think  that  was  just  my 
lesson." 

Her  features  relaxed  somewhat  as  she  said :  — 

"  Well,  that  is  a  lesson  which  I  have  yet  to  learn,  I 
suppose.     But  where  is  the  old  man?  " 

"He  vanished  as  unexpectedly  as  he  appeared. 
After  he  had  sung  several  snatches  of  song,  I  asked 
some  questions  which  he  answered."         "^ 


IX   THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         147 

"Indeed!"  cried  the  school-mistress,  "If  he  an- 
swered all  your  questions,  let  him  be  called  the 
oracle." 

"  He  did  not  answer  all,  for  he  left  me  in  the  midst 
of  my  inquiries.  Since  then  I  have  seen  him  but  once. 
^Nobody  in  town  seems  to  know  anything  about  him, 
though  he  showed  familiarity  with  the  spot  of  earth 
where  we  sat.  He  appeared  to  feel  with  it  somehow, 
and  he  made  me  feel  with  it  too." 

"  You  are  a  strange  boy,  you  probably  do  not  your- 
self understand  what  you  are  saying."  After  this 
critical  remark,  she  took  a  little  turn  at  interrogation: 
"But  tell  me,  Harry,  what  tangible  thing  did  you  get 
from  your  ancient  singer,  what  fact?  " 

"No  fact  at  all,  I  imagine." 

"What  then  was  it  all  good  for?" 

"  I  can  hardly  say,  I  have  not  the  words  to  tell  it. 
He  drove  me  out  of  myself,  lifted  me  beyond,"  said 
the  youth  in  a  study. 

"Surely  a  curious  kind  of  instruction." 

"  But  often  the  best  instruction.  Have  you  no 
secret  thoughts  which  words  do  not  tell,  are  there  no 
hidden  chords  in  you  which  bind  you  to  the  unknown 
world?" 

Miss  Winslow  looked  3^es,  though  she  did  not  say  it. 
He  was  striking  the  undertone  of  her  nature,  he  felt 
it  in  her  conduct,  and  w^t  on :  "  Have  you  no  hidden 
experiences  which  never  dare  come  into  the  sunlight 
of  common  speech,  but  are  touched  by  the  soft  breath 
of  song?  " 

She  replied  as  if  in  the  hands  of  her  confessor: 
"  Such  thoughts  I  have  skulking  all  through  the  night- 


148  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

side  of  my  brain.  But  I  seek  to  keep  them  out  of  the 
daylight  of  life ;  I  think  it  is  not  well  to  play  with 
them  or  indulge  in  them."  Again  she  had  resumed 
her  will  and  her  magisterial  bearing  in  this  last  sen- 
tence. 

"  Still,"  said  the  youth,  "  they  are  what  we  are ; 
they  are  the  unknown  in  ourselves,  which  we  must 
know." 

"  But  tell,  who  is  the  magician  who  has  called  out 
this  side  of  your  being,  quite  opposite  to  all  I  seek  to 
do?" 

"  An  old  man  and  a  wanderer,  full  of  benevolence, 
but  with  some  set  sorrow  in  his  heart.  Somehow  I 
had  to  connect  his  benevolence  and  his  sorrow  ;  the 
former  seemed  to  grow  out  of  the  latter ;  he  was  good 
because  he  had  been  unfortunate." 

At  these  words  Miss  Winslow  gave  a  sudden  start, 
which  was  followed  by  a  visible  struggle  with  her 
emotions.  She  soon  suppressed  her  inner  self,  and 
calmly  said :  — 

"Charity  and  even  duty,  in  the  case  of  most 
people,  are  the  children  of  suffering.  But  may  such 
never  be  your  experience!  " 

She  spoke  the  words  as  if  they  had  been  taken  di- 
rectly from  the  secret  archives  of  her  heart.  Henry 
went  on: — 

"The  old  man  plants,  as  Jit  appeared  from  sev- 
eral hints  which  he  gave,  the  seeds  of  fruit  trees  ;  he 
goes  in  advance  of  thfe  great  tide  of  emigrants  to  do 
his  work  of  benevolence.  He  planted  yonder  apple- 
tree  many  years  ago." 
.  At  this  account,  Miss  Winslow  rose  and  paced  the 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF   THE    FIRESTONES.         149 

room  in  a  strong  outburst  of  feeling,  while  she  ex- 
claimed^  ''O,  destiny,  how  like  are  thy  decrees!" 

But  she  recovered  herself  at  once,  and  quietly 
asked :  — 

"  Did  you  find  out  the  name  of  the  old  man?  ' 

"No;  he  seemed  to  shun  such  a  question  even  be- 
fore I  had  asked  it." 

"Then  you  know  nothing  more  about  him?' 

"  Nothing."  At  this  answer,  both  for  a  time  were 
silent. 

Miss  Winslow  gradually  changed  her  attitude ;  she 
drew  nearer  and  spoke  in  a  mild,  confidential  tone: 
''But  tell  me,  Harry,  what  have  you  learned  from 
me?" 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Miss  Winslow' s  face  had 
lost  of  a  sudden  its  sharpness,  the  steel  edge  of  the 
spear  and  battle-axe  had  begun  to  melt  in  the  secret 
fire  underneath,  at  least  to  glow  with  a  visible  redness. 
But  why  should  she  care  for  the  opinion  of  a  boy? 
It  is  certain  that,  with  all  her  pride,  she  sought  his  ap- 
probation. But  Hcnrj'  knew  not  what  to  answer,  he 
felt  that  his  praise  of  the  old  singer  had  called  up  an 
unexpected  rival.  He  thought  a  moment,  and  then 
with  a  meditative  look  out  of  the  window  he  said  • 

"  I  think  you  drive  me  back  into  myself." 

VI. 

Miss  Winslow  had  turned  her  head  aside,  and  her 
eye  fell  upon  the  book-case.  She  rose  and  went  to 
it,  drawn  by  the  strong  attraction  of  books,  which 
were  her  comforters  as  well  as  her  instruments.     She 


150  THE    FREEBtJRGERS. 

had  secretly  felt  a  little  rebound  at  Henry's  rather 
uncertain  answer ;  at  least  her  face  began  to  resume 
something  of  its  fixed  expression.  She  passed  by  the 
new  volumes,  as  objects  well  known  or  unimportant, 
and  took  down  an  old  book,  which  bore  the  written 
title:     Desider.  Erasm.  Roterod.  Fam.  Colloq.  Form. 

The  school-mistress  was  the  only  person  in  the  town 
of  Freeburg,  who  could  make  anything  out  of  this 
title,  or  could  give  any  account  of  the  author.  She 
opened  the  book,  read  its  Latin  text,  and  made  some 
comments ;  she  spoke  of  its  place  in  the  education  of 
Europe  two  and  three  centuries  ago ;  it  had  been  one 
of  the  chief  trainers  in  the  humanities,  though  now 
quite  supplanted  and  forgotten.  '*  Such  is  the  fate," 
she  added,  looking  at  her  pupil,  "  of  all  educators ;  we 
are  but  sign-boards  pointing  out  the  road  to  the  next 
town." 

But  Henry  was  too  full  to  respond  to  this  pensive 
touch ;  he  swelled  with  aspiration,  when  he  heard  her 
translate  and  explain  these  sentences  of  the  old  book, 
which  had  now  become  gifted  with  a  new  voice.  He 
felt,  however,  his  admiration  for  Miss  Winslow  in- 
crease to  the  point  of  warm  emotion.  With  this  came 
a  longing,  almost  beyond  control,  to  be  able  to  do 
the  same  thing.  His  desire  to  know  dashed  so  violently 
against  the  bounds  of  his  ignorance,  that  he  writhed 
in  secret  torment,  and  even  two  or  three  sighs  broke 
over  the  firm  wall  of  his  self-suppression. 

Miss  Winslow  turned  back  to  the  inscription  on  the 
fly-leaf,  and  Ihen remarked :  '-The  former  owner  of 
this  book  must  have  been  at  the  University  of  Wit- 
tenberg in  Germany,  during  the  year  1676." 


IN    THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         151 

*'  What  is  the  name  there  written  ?  ** 

**It  is  your  name,  spelt  in  German  fashion.'* 

"My  name!  I  never  put  it  there.  That  book  has 
come  down  through  my  grandfather ;  nobody  in  the 
house  can  understand  what  is  in  it." 

"Doubtless  an  heirloom,"  Miss  Hope  replied. 

"This  is  a  new  fact,"  she  continued,  "  and  a  very 
interesting  one  too.  I  infer  there  has  been  a  scholar 
in  the  family  during  some  former  period.  I  have 
noticed  that  you  have  an  ancestral  tendency  in  the  same 
direction." 

"I  do  not  know  about  that,"  said  Henry.  "  But  I 
do  know  that  since  you  came  to  this  town,  the 
strongest  wish  of  my  heart  has  been  to  understand 
those  old  volumes.  You  must  nave  given  me  the  im- 
pulse. At  present,  they  seem  to  pen  me  in  and 
smother  me  between  their  covers  in  darkness.  I  have 
pored  over  them,  and,  as  I  could  not  read  their  story, 
I  made  a  story  of  my  own  to  fill  up  the  blank.  I  fol- 
lowed the  thumb  marks,  I  noticed  that  some  pages  had 
been  more  used,  and  hence  more  read,  than  others ;  I 
sought  to  picture  the  man  who  wrote  these  characters 
on  the  margin  in  such  a  fantastic  way." 

"Well,  did  you  see  him?"  asked  Miss  Winslow. 

"Yes,  I  dreamed  him  into  a  real  existence  one 
night,"  replied  Henry,  "and  ever  since  I  have  been 
acquainted  with  him." 

"What  did  he  look  like?* 

"  I  saw  him  in  a  low,  dark  room  reading  these  books 
day  and  night ;  a  gloomy  arch  bent  over  his  head,  and 
a  dim  lamp  at  times  shed  a  little  light  on  the  page. 
In  the  shadows  ghostly  shapes  played  and  snickered 


152  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

at  the  lone  student,  who  had  a  long  beard,  a  skull-cap 
with  a  tassel,  and  a  thread- bare  mantle  tied  with  a 
string." 

*'What  didhe  do?" 

"He  read  and  read,  occasionally  looking  up  and 
muttering  to  himself.  But  I  noticed  that  the  more  he 
read,  the  more  discontented  he  seemed,  his  face  kept 
growing  darker." 

''  But  he  did  not  stop,  and  thus  put  an  end  to  his 
unhappiuess?" 

"  Not  at  all.  If  he  ceased,  it  was  only  for  a  mo- 
ment ;  then  he  would  start  with  new  energy.  He  re- 
turned to  his  books  like  a  drunkard  to  his  cups,  well 
knowing,  apparently,  the  consequences.  At  last,  in 
the  midst  of  an  unearthly  scowl  on  his  countenance,  I 
saw  a  demon  slip  out  of  the  darkness,  and  come  up  be- 
hind his  back,  and  peep  over  his  shoulder." 

*'  Go  on,  what  next?  " 

' '  They  talked  together,  and  made  some  agreement, 
whereat  both  went  off  in  the  dark." 

"And  still  you  wish  to  find  out  what  is  in  these 
books?"  inquired  Miss  WinsloWc 

"  Yes,  though  fiends  rise  up  while  I  read  them,  and 
chatter  at  me." 

"  How  dare  you  say  that?  " 

"  Indeed,"  continued  Henry,  "  I  would  like  to  see 
the  chieftain  of  them  all,  old  Satan  himself/ 

"Henry  Firestone,  you  are  wicked." 

"What!  is  it  wicked  to  know  anybody  or  any- 
thing?" 

"  You  will  be  danined.' 

"Then  I  am  in  the  dilemma,  which  is  recounted  in 


IN    THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.        153 

the  old  story :  If  I  do  I  shall  be  damned,  and  I  shall 
be  damned  if  I  don't.^  At  present  I  am  stewing  in 
the  hell  of  ignorance,  and  I  am  going  to  break  out  of 
it,  though  I  fall  into  another  burning  pit." 

Such  lanojuaore  had  never  before  been  heard  from 
the  lips  of  Henry  Firestone.  He  was  usually  quiet  in 
speech  and  manner,  but  now  be  talked  as  if  that 
ancestral  demon,  which  he  had  seen,  had  taken  poses- 
sion  of  him  too.  But,  what  is  more  astonishing,  his 
words  appeared  to  rise  above  his  years  and  oppor- 
tunities ;  it  would  seem  as  if  he  could  not  have  fully 
known  the  import  of  what  he  was  saying.  At  least  a 
new  thread  of  his  existence,  hitherto  invisible,  sud- 
denly rose  into  activity.  Miss  Winslow  was  frightened 
at  him ;  he  had  always  been  a  very  docile  pupil  of 
hers,  but  now  his  spirit  overmastered  her  secret  genius, 
and  took  a  broad  sweep  on  its  own  free  wings  toward 
its  own  goal. 

Miss  Winslow  did  not,  however,  forget  her  skill ; 
she  recognized  the  soul  liberating  itself  from  swaddling 
clothes  ;  she  could  guide,  if  she  could  not  control.  She 
deftly  turned  the  overflowing  youth  into  another  chan- 
nel, in  which  the  spirit  might  move  onward  to  conquest. 
She  said :  — 

"Henry,  if  you  wish  to  read  those  old  works,  you 
must  go  to  college.  The  halls  of  learning  are  the 
dweUing-places  of  the  past." 

"  You  have  hinted  the  same  before,"  Henry  re- 
plied, "  I  am  trying  to  prepare  the  way  ;  it  is  my  am- 
bition to  learn,  but  there  are  obstacles  ;  these,  however, 
whet  my  desire.  There  is  a  struggle  ahead  of  me,  but 
I  think  I  shall  win." 


154  THE    FRKEBtJRGERS. 

Henry  had  fallen  into  his  docile  mood,  often  full 
of  wavering  to  and  fro  between  his  purposes.  At  this 
point  Miss  Winslow  resumed  the  rule  of  her  will,  and 
exclaimed,  with  an  energy  which  imparted  strength  to 
the  youth,  and  some  terror  •  — 

"  No  doubt  3^ou  will  win  —  you  must." 

It  was  now  Miss  Winslow's  turn  to  master  the  situa- 
tion ;  her  battle  face  was  lit  with  vivid  artillery  flashes 
that  leaped  from  her  eyes,  while  she  seemed  on  the  point 
of  drawing  her  keen  broadsword,  namely,  her  tongue, 
and  of  making  havoc  among  the  unseen  foe.  Opposition 
to  her  will  always  roused  her  sleeping  lion,  but  then  she 
quieted  him,  knowing  she  was  a  woman,  and  proceeded 
to  gain  her  end  by  stealth  and  tact.  Soon  her  look 
and  her  speech  toned  down,  and  she  passed  from  the 
fightinor  Amazon  to  the  mild  humanitarian. 

She  now  continued:  "  You  ought  to  go,  not  for 
your  own  sake  merely,  but  for  the  general  good  of  the 
town.  Other  young  men  will  follow  you,  they  are  not 
going  to  be  left  behind.  You  can  make  yourself  the 
means  of  transforming  this  entire  region  ;  I  can  see  that 
many  are  ready  for  a  higher  training,  and  they  should 
not  lose  the  opportunity.  It  is  man's  noblest  vocation 
to  make  for  others  a  pathway  to  what  is  excellent,  and 
to  get  the  best  by  first  giving  it.  One  such  person  is 
enough  to  start  the  train.  Freeburg  will  yet  be  a  cen- 
ter of  light,  if  it  take  advantage  of  the  time ;  the  town 
is  at  a  turning-point  in  its  career,  and  is  calling,  in  a 
voiceless  way,  for  a  leader.  Step  forward,  Henry ;  it  is 
your  duty,  plainly  your  duty." 

In  this  little  speech  Miss  Winslow  showed  that  pecu- 
liar play  of  motives  which  always  seeks  to  see  the  uni- 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         155 

versal  good  in  the  individual  advantage.  She  dwelt  on 
the  public  benefit,  but  secreted  the  private  gain ;  her 
tongue  spoke  of  many,  but  her  heart  knew  of  one. 
She  was  very  skillful  in  covering  over  a  personal  end 
with  the  varnish  of  duty.  But  it  would  be  a  great 
mistake  to  call  her  false,  and  a  still  greater  mistake  to 
think  that  she  had  not  self-sacrifice.  Her  whole  life 
was  a  consecration,  though  she  choose  to  garb  her  con- 
duct at  times  to  the  outer  eye  in  a  contradiction.  Be- 
sides, there  can  be  no  doubfc  that  the  fact  stated  by  her 
was  true ;  Henry's  going  to  college  placed  a  new  aim 
before  the  young  people  of  Freeburg,  and,  to  a  degree, 
influenced  their  character  and  life. 

But  this  general  welfare  of  the  community  could 
not  be  Henry's  motive  of  conduct,  and  he  knew  it. 
Whether  the  town  gained  by  it  or  not,  he  prepared  to 
do  the  act,  and  he  was  not  going  to  cheat  himself  by 
a  delusive  play  of  duty.  He  noticed  the  above  men- 
tioned trait  in  Miss  Winslow,  and  it  affected  him  dis- 
agreeabl}^ ;  it  seemed  a  kind  of  insincerity  in  a  sincere 
soul,  a  blot  of  h3'pocrisy  in  her  otherwise  unsullied 
devotion  to  the  highest  interests  of  mankind.  Their 
characters  diverged  strongly  at  this  point.  He  loved 
honesty  so  ruggedly  that  he  preferred  to  seem  selfish 
at  times,  though  this  candor  was  really  unselfish.  But 
she  loved  the  general  good  so  devotedly  that  she 
always  wore  its  robe,  and  sometimes  without  permis- 
sion. In  general,  he  had  the  German  ethical  tendency 
in  his  nature  ;  she  had  the  New  England  ethical  tend- 
ency, by  nature  and  education. 

It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that  he  replied:  *'0h,  I 
shall  go  for  my  own  sake,  I  have  my  own  improvement 


156  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

in  view,  whicj^  is  quite  enough  for  me  to  attend  to  at 
present.  If  my  going  be  the  means  of  doing  others 
good,  I  shall  be  glad,  but  I  deserve  no  credit,  and  shall 
take  none." 

The  youth  sought  to  deal  honestly  with  himself,  and 
not  to  defraud  his  own  soul  by  the  juggle  of  lying 
motives.  Tell  the  truth  to  thyself  is  the  first  command- 
ment to  the  young  man  who  is  laying  the  corner-stone 
of  the  edifice  of  life.  If  you, never  lie  to  yourself,  you 
never  will  to  the  neighbor ;  the  man  is  first  false  inside, 
then  goes  outside  and  shows  the  proof. 

In  her  heart  Miss  Winslow  felt  this  superiority  of 
the  youth,  and  regarded  him  with  new  admiration.  She 
turned  toward  him  more  familiarly  than  ever  before  ; 
her  stiff,  conventional  smile  broke  into  a  thousand 
rippling  fragments  that  floated  buoyantly  down  stream  ; 
one  could  see  in  her  the  frigid  brook  burst  its  chains 
of  ice,  and  bear  them  melting  out  of  view,  when  spring 
has  come. 

VII. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Aunt  Polly  came  along, 
followed  by  little  Trolla.  The  latter  held  in  her  hand 
a  beautiful  double  rose,  which  she  had  just  plucked 
after  watching  it  gradually  unfold  to  its  highest  per- 
fection ;  its  shape  as  well  as  its  blood-red  tint  in  the 
sun  suggested  a  warm,  palpitating  heart.  She  had 
intended  it  for  Henry,  but  she  hid  it  at  once  in  her 
dress,  when  she  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  talking  in  a 
low,  confidential  tone  to  Miss  Winslow.  The  child  had 
taken  the  strongest  dislike  to  the  school-mistress,  and 
showed  it  on  all  occasions.     Nobody  could  get  her  to 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         157 

tell  why ;  the  antipathy  seemed  born  in  her,  and  gave 
her  at  times  positive  pain.  It  was  an  instinct,  a  hos- 
tility of  souls ;  it  appeared  a  transmitted  feud  of  two 
spirits  who  had  begun  their  struggle  in  another  world. 
Miss  Hope  had  often  tried  to  conciliate  and  to  caress 
her,  even  to  bribe  her  fidelity  to  hate  with  sweetmeats ; 
every  advance  was  repelled  not  only  with  shyness,  but 
with  aversion.  At  present  Trolla  hid  the  uninendly 
contortions  of  her  face  in  Aunt  Polly's  skirts,  bat  the 
latter  pushed  her  to  the  front,  saying: — 

"  Give  the  flower  to  Miss  Hope." 

The  child  turned  back,  wriggled,  resisted  to  the 
utmost.  On  its  face  one  could  see  not  only  dislike, 
but  a  kind  of  moral  horror.     It  cried  out :  — 

"  I  cannot,  Aunt  Polly." 

It  had  been  noticed  in  the  family,  that  to  Trolla 
every  action  was  an  emblem  ;  instinctively  her  little 
gifts  were  the  utterances  of  her  little  heart,  plainer 
than  those  of  speech.  To  present  Miss  Hope  with, the 
double-rose  would  be  a  falsehood,  indeed  a  sort  of 
treachery  toward  her  own  character.  She  refused  to 
be  guilty.  When  Aunt  Polly  pushed  her  off  a  second 
time,  she  ran  to  Henry  and  laid  the  flower  on  his  arm, 
exclaiming,  — 

"  There!  that  is  for  you,  and  it  comes  from  me.'* 

At  once  she  hastened  out  of  the  room,  and  betook 
herself  to  the  garden. 

Miss  Winslow  was  embarrassed  and  remarked:  — 

*'  I  wonder  what  I  have  done  to  that  child.  I  have 
tried  in  vain  to  induce  her  to  come  to  my  school.  I 
have  noticed  she  cannot  endure  the  sight  of  the  school- 
house.'* 


158  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

"Still,  she  learns  with  willingness  at  home  from 
Henr}^,"  Aunt  Polly  .replied. 

Trolia  was  deeply  attached  to  Henry,  who  found  in 
her  much  comfort  and  much  wonder.  He  would  teacb 
her  with  delight,  in  order  to  see  her  break  out  of  the 
common  path  of  learning  an  exercise,  and  make  a  road 
of  her  own.  She  had  a  way  of  spelling  her  words 
backwards,  and  of  dropping  them  into  a  sentence  at 
any  point,  till  they  had  all  found  their  place.  But 
her  chief  characteristic  was,  that  she  always  arranged 
ner  lesson  to  a  kind  of  melod}^ ;  she  could  learn 
nothing,  except  by  putting  the  material  of  her  study 
into  a  song,  or  some  rhythmical  movement.  What 
was  incapable  of  being  sung,  dropped  out  of  her 
memory,  or,  rather,  never  entered.  The  airs  which 
she  heard,  she  would  make  over  again ;  she  could  not 
keep  quite  the  same  notes  of  a  tune,  but  would  vary 
it  in  spite  of  herself.  Henry  was  charmed  with  this 
tendency  to  break  over  bounds  mto  a  free,  unconscious 
activity  of  her  own,  and  actually  imitated  her  at  times, 
though  unwittingly.  This  was,  perhaps,  the  link 
which  connected  their  souls.  Her  dress  was  not 
specially  tidy,  but  it  had  a  certain  play  in  its  folds, 
and  responded  freely  to  her  motions,  which  showed  a 
graceful  rhythm.  Wherever  she  came  and  went,  she 
flitted  like  a  spirit,  and  left  her  atmosphere  behind  ; 
even  now,  after  she  had  gone  out,  she  was  a  pres- 
ence felt  in  the  room. 

"A  strange  child,"  said  Aunt  Polly,  "the  morel 
know  about  her,  the  more  there  is  to  know." 

"  That  is  the  case  with  all  my  knowledge,"  Henry 
added. 


IN    THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    PTRESTONES.         159 

The  school-mistress  looked  at  him  with  a  slight 
scowl,  and  gave  a  sarcastic  tinge  to  her  remark :  — 

'*  You  have  then  only  increased  your  ignorance  by 
my  instruction." 

*' Yes,  and  my  knowledge  too  ;  both  go  together." 

Henry  did  not  wait  for  the  retort.  He  went  up  to 
her,  and,  with  a  glance  which  was  not  wanting  in  ardor, 
put  the  double-rose  into  her  hand,  saying :  — 

"  What  TrolLa  refuses  to  you,  I  shall  gladly  give." 
If  Miss  Hope  had  at  that  moment  a  keen  word  at  the 
end  of  her  tongue,  she  withdrew  it  at  the  sight  of  the 
crimson  token,  and  her  face,  already  somewhat  con- 
gealed, began  to  thaw  rapidly.  But  just  then  Trolk 
unexpectedly  returned  with  another  flower  of  a 
different  kind ;  she  peeped  through  the  door,  and, 
when  she  saw  Miss  Hope  wearing  the  gift  she  had  pre- 
sented to  Henry,  she  flung  the  flower  away,  burst  into 
a  sob  and  ran  off.  She  could  not  conceal  her  jealousy, 
and,  indeed,  she  had  been  wrongjsd  by  Henry,  whom, 
however,  she  did  not  blame ;  she  thought  he  was 
too  much  under  the  influence  of  Miss  Hope. 

Henry  noticed  at  a  glance  how  deeply  she  was  hurt 
and  surmised  the  cause  ;  he  ran  out  after  her  and  found 
her  in  tears. 

"  Why,  TroUa,  what  is  the  matter?" 

The  youth  now  heard  for  the  first  time  the  child's 
view  of  the  school  mistress.  The  tears  bad  loosened 
her  tongue,  as  well  as  sharpened  both  intellect  and 
speech,  till  she  hardly  seemed  a  child  in  her  observa- 
tions. 

"  I  think  Miss  Hope  is  too  strict  in  everything  ;  you 
have  to  learn  from  her  just  in  one  way.     She  looks  too 


160  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

much  at  herself,  in  her  mind,  if  not  in  her  looking- 
glass.  I  hate  to  see  a  person  who  sees  only  her  own 
face.  Why  doesn't  she  get  married?  She  ought  to 
have  a  husband  of  her  own  age.  Yet  she  is  so  precise, 
she  cannot  live  with  anybody." 

In  this  way  she  let  out  the  secret  of  her  own  heart 
by  glancing  into  another's  heart.  Trolla  did  not  spare 
criticism  of  Miss  Winslow's  garments ;  that  touch  of 
nature,  of  female  nature  specially,  could  not  be  kept 
down;  "Her  dress  is  smoothed  to  death,  it  has  no 
life.  Oh,  yes ;  it  is  neat  and  clean  ;  so  is  a  shroud. 
She  is  thin  and  lank,  and  walks  as  stiff  as  the  old 
crane  in  the  water. ' ' 

Henry  heard  Aunt  Polly's  call  and  left  Trolla,  whose 
tears  had  turned  to  bitter  meditations  which  relieved 
her  heart.  He  came  into  the  room,  he  observed  that 
the  two  women  were  in  a  strange  attitude  toward  each 
other.  Aunt  Polly  was  smiling,  with  furtive  waggery 
peeping  out  of  her  eyes  ;  Miss  Winslow  was  laboring 
under  some  inner  compulsion  to  present  an  easy  look. 
The  presence  of  Henry  seemed  to  give  relief  to  Miss 
Winslow,  who  said  to  him :  — 

"We  were  talking  of  college,  were  we  not,  Henry, 
when  you  went  out?" 

Aunt  Polly  broke  in  without  waiting  for  Henry's 
answer :  — 

"  That  is  a  very  good  subject  for  conversation,  if  it 
leads  up  to  something  better." 

She  had  too  old  an  eye  not  to  look  through  a  subter- 
fuge, and  too  young  a  disposition  not  to  be  fond  of 
teasing.  She  perceived  that  she  had  interrupted  the 
stream,  but  she  was  going  to  play  for  her  own  amuse- 


IN    THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         161 

ment  a  little  comedy  with  Miss  Winslow,  whom  she 
knew  to  be  in  disguise,  though  pretending  innocence. 

She  asked  the  latter  with  an  arch  glance  of  the  eye : 
"  Did  you  never  fling  a  big  stone  into  a  rushing  brook 
and  dam  up  the  flow?  " 

*'  Possibly  —  I  do  not  remember  ;  I  have  seen  many 
rapid  mountain  brooks  in  my  native  State  with  large 
stones  in  them,'*  said  Miss  Winslow. 

"I  can  well  imagine  3'ou  have,"  continued  Aunt 
Polly,  with  her  provoking  smile. 

"Take  the  fact  for  granted,  tell  me  what  follows." 
Miss  Winslow  was  no  witch  at  a  riddle  ;  she  had  a  clear 
understanding,  but  a  very  small  sweep  into  the  realm 
beyond  it ;  she  had  wit,  but  little  humor.  Aunt  Polly 
had  confused  her  with  the  faintest  toucli  of  mystery, 
but  it  hardly  needed  any  mystery  to  confuse  her  now. 
Aunt  Polly  answered :  — 

"  Did  you  never  take  the  stone  out  again  to  see  the 
stream  recover  its  flow?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,"  said  Miss  Winslow,  still  puzzled  at 
the  double  meaning  she  saw  in  Aunt  Polly's  speech,  and 
not  knowing  whether  she  should  take  the  literal  or  the 
metaphorical  sense. 

This  state  of  comic  embarrassment  was  Aunt  Polly's 
enjoyment ;  she  loved  to  catch  the  shrewd  school-mis- 
tress, who  was  herself  often  double,  in  such  an  am- 
biguity, and  serve  up  to  her  a  little  dish  of  her  own 
character. 

The  old  lady,  having  had  her  inward  laugh,  though 
it  was  indicated  outwardly  by  a  mere  twinkle  of  the 
eye,  which  set  her  great  round  spectacle  glasses  to 
gleaming  like  two  stars,  built  out  her  little  play  with  a 

11 


162  THE    FREEBURGERS 

cap-stone:   "  I  always  remove  such  an  obstruction  for 
the  sake  of  the  beautiful  stream." 

With  these  words  she  slipped  off  the  scene  through 
the  back  door,  and  left  Henry  and  Miss  Winslow  once 
more  together. 

VIII. 

As  soon  as  Aunt  Polly  had  quit, the  room,  it  was 
hardly  noticed  that  the  bushes  rustled  outside  some- 
where along  the  fence,  which  stood  not  far  from  the 
window.  One  would  naturally  suppose  it  to  be  the 
wind,  but  the  wind  was  not  then  blowing.  It  made  a 
low,  uncanny  sound,  which  caused  a  troubling  of  the 
spirits  of  both  ;  they  did  not  speak  of  it,  they  were  but 
dimly  conscious  of  the  influence,  still  they  were  dis- 
turbed. Often  we  feel  that  something  is  present  which 
has  thrust  itself  into  the  circle,  and  stopped  the  free 
communication  of  spirit,  but  we  know  not  what  it  is. 
Some  such  unseen  power  now  stood  between  those  two 
souls  in  that  room  ;  it  was  felt  by  both,  and  each  sought 
to  throw  it  aside  without  success. 

After  some  time,  however,  the  conversation  began  to 
flow,  but  not  so  freely  as  before.  Aunt  Polly  had  not 
been  able  to  remove  the  stone  from  the  brook  by  leaving 
the  room.  The  current  of  feeling,  once  dashed  aside, 
may  never  be  able  to  get  back  into  its  old  channel,  in 
spite  of  well-meant  attempts  to  restore  it  to  its  course. 
Both  persons  may  be  willing,  may  make  strong  efforts 
in  common,  may  even  dig  a  new  channel  for  the  stream 
of  conversation  to  run  in ;  but  it  has  gone  dry,  has 
sunk  away  somewhere  into  the  dark  underground  of 
human  nature.    Will  cannot  command  it,  destiny  may. 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         163 

In  the  present  case,  both  were  secretly  embarrassed  at 
the  obstacle ;  and  no  object  offered  itself  upon  which 
they  might  throw  their  burden  and  have  it  carried 
away. 

But  the  very  obstacle  is  sometimes  the  dam  which 
gathers  the  struggling  forces  of  the  stream  into  an  ir- 
resistible body — forces  which  might  otherwise  flow 
away  peacefully  into  nothingness  through  non-resist- 
ance. Miss  Winslow  made  several  laborious  efforts  to 
bring  back  the  former  happy  flow  of  feeling  into  its 
unhindered  course,  but  every  word  was  a  new  stone 
flung  into  the  current.  At  last,  around  every  fixed  line 
of  her  face  flashes  began  to  play,  as  she  drew  a  little 
nearer,  and  spoke  in  a  lower  tone  to  the  youth :  — 

"Henry,  what  did  the  old  singer  you  heard  sing 
about?" 

Henry  felt  the  new  glow  and  dropped  his  eyes,  say- 
ing:— 

"  That  is  very  hard  to  tell." 

Miss  Winslow  leaned  over  still  nearer  and  asked :  — 

"Was  it  love?" 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Henr}-,  tossing  up  his  head, 
in  a  dash  of  modesty,  which  his  burning  eyes  at  once 
betrayed  as  a  feint. 

"That  is  a  very  common  subject  of  song,"  she 
added,  by  way  of  information.  Henry  kept  silent,  but 
there  was  on  his  cheek  a  new  redness,  which  spoke  as 
loud  as  words,  at  least  loud  enough  for  Miss  Winslow 
to  hear  it.  She  went  on,  as  if  answering  the  language 
of  that  blush  of  his :  — 

"  If  you  should  ever  go  to  college,  do  you  think  you 
would  remember  me?" 


164  THli   FREEBURGERS. 

''How  could  I  forget  one  who  has  given  me  so 
much?  " 

Henry  during  this  speech  cast  glances  upon  the 
floor,  pretending  to  a  kind  of  shame,  which  is  but  shy 
confession. 

"Will  you  not  take  from  me  this  keepsake?*' 
Miss  Winslow  drew  from  her  pocket  a  small  case 
with  a  clasp,  which  contained  a  picture.  Henry 
opened  it,  saw  the  face,  and  said  with  new  blushes, 
"  Thank,  you  ;  just  what  I  wanted."  In  this  answer 
nobody  can  charge  him  with  having  told  a  downright 
lie. 

At  these  words  of  his,  the  rigid  iron  features  of  Miss 
Winslow  had  vanished ;  they  were  melted  in  the  fur- 
nace of  emotion,  and,  in  their  fluid  condition,  changed 
and  seethed  and  took  many  new  tumultuous  forms. 
Amid  her  fluctuations,  she  had  drawn  still  closer  to  the 
youth,  who,  in  turn,  had  drawn  still  closer  to  the 
school-mistress  ;  but  hark !  again  that  suspicious  rustle 
of  the  bushes  out  of  doors !  then  a  sudden  rattle  of 
the  window  shutter !  She  stepped  backwards  a  couple 
of  paces ;  both  were  startled  ;  they  glanced  at  each 
other  for  a  moment  with  a  kind  of  terror ;  both  looked 
guilty  at  having  done  no  wrong.  It  was  not  the  wind, 
and  probably  it  was  not  an  earthquake.  What  could 
it  be?  The  uncanny,  feeling  returned;  the  invisible 
presence  was  again  in  the  room,  and  stood  between 
them,  separating  and  darkening  their  spirits.  Henry, 
with  some  trepidation,  went  to  the  window  and  threw 
open  the  shutter,  which  had  been  already  closed.  It 
was  evening ;  he  peered  around  in  the  dusky  shadows, 
and  exclaimed,  "Nothing!  '* 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF    THE    FIRESTONES.         165 

He  did  not  choose  to  investigate  very  far  into  tlie 
mystery  at  which  he  felt  a  shudder  ;  he  had  vindicated 
his  courage  to  himself  and  to  the  lady,  as  he  thought ; 
he  would  take  no  further  risks.  He  closed  the  win- 
dow and  returned  to  his  former  place,  but  he  found 
the  unseen  ghost  still  present  with  an  increased  power, 
and  he  did  not  know  how  to  fight  a  ghost.  He  had 
the  feeling  of  universal  discomfort  without  any  visible 
cause. 

Miss  Winslow  on  her  side,  too,  was  assailed ;  the 
strange  interruption  brought  her  back  to  her  ordin- 
ary demeanor ;  that  glowing  fusion  of  iron  smiles  in 
her  face  began  to  cool  off,  and  to  shoot  into  the 
stiff  lines  of  propriety ;  she  drew  her  chair  away,  and 
said :  — 

"  Henry,  do  not  think  me  bold ;  do  not  think  me  in 
an  unusual  vein  this  evening ;  I  love  your  aspiration. 
Perhaps  I  miglit  be  misunderstood ;  my  conduct  might 
be  misconstrued  by  you;  I  am  seeking  unselfishly 
your  advantage.  I  have  no  desire  or  purpose  of  my 
own  to  accomplish." 

Here  she  stopped,  being  a  little  impeded  by  some  in- 
truding thought.  She  had  now  a  severe  attack  of  pru- 
dence, and  fell  back  into  her  disguise ;  it  was  high 
time  to  hide  herself  a  little,  and  her  hiding-place  was 
usually  her  conscience.  After  a  short  silence  she  spoke 
again :   "I  have  only  your  good  in  mind." 

Henry  replied :   "I  never  thought  otherwise." 

Still  the  young  rascal  did  think  otherwise  ;  uncon- 
sciously he  had  been  driven  into  accepting  her  disguise 
as  truth,  and  thus  into  putting  on  a  disguise  himself. 
Both  stood  peeping  at    each  other    from  under  their 


166  THE    FREKBUKGERS. 

masks,  when  tlie  voice  of  Miss  Winslow  was  again 
heard :  — 

"  You  must  not  confound  this  interest  in  your  wel- 
fare with  anything  else." 

"  Oh  no,  certainly  not,  "  said  the  youth. 

But  he  certainly  did,  and  she  knew  it.  Both  began 
to  feel  their  common  pretense,  and  the  situation  was 
growing  ridiculous.  The  countei'-current  was  setting 
in,  she  whirled  about,  gave  herself  breath,  which  she 
did  not  need,  with  a  few  rapid  strokes  of  her  fan,  and 
exclaimed :     "  O  j'-ou  are  tantalizing!  " 

Disguise  could  not  control  her  altogether,  propriety 
could  not  every  minute  be  on  guard  and  keep  her  in 
its  limits  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  She  drew  her 
chair  back  to  its  former  position,  leaned  over  and 
spoke  in  a  whisper :  "Am  I  to  have  nothing  in  re- 
turn?" 

The  intruding  ghost  had  apparently  fled,  and  Miss 
Winslow' s  features  were  rapidly  losing  the  rigid  lines 
of  propriety.  One  might  see,  too,  currents  and  coun- 
ter-currents surging  through  the  breast. 

Henry  took  up  from  the  parlor  table  a  small  likeness 
of  himself  in  ivory,  of  which  Aunt  Polly  had  borne  the 
expense,  but  which  Trolla  claimed  as  hers,  probably 
without  sufficient  right. 

"Here  is  my  picture,"  he  said,  "accept  it  as  a 
little  reminder  of  me." 

The  youth  this  time  took  the  initiative ;  he  had  been 
taught  somewhat  by  his  school-mistress,  and  had 
learned  the  lesson  so  well  that  he  began  to  put  it  into 
practice  on  the  spot.  He  now  had  the  courage  to  look 
into  her  face,  as  she  stood  before  him,  unresisting ;   he 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF   THE    FIRESTO^ES.         167 

raised  his  arms  and  she  fell,  not  knowing  whither  or 
wherefore.  There  was  in  both  a  momentary  swoon  of 
the  senses,  the  world  went  round  and  round,  and  when 
its  gyration  had  ceased,  they  stood  eye  to  eye,  and 
then  in  a  flash  it  was  lip  to  lip. 

There  was  a  second  of  rapture,  and  it  had  not  3^et 
passed,  when  a  loud  crash  was  heard  ;  slivers  of  wood 
and  pieces  of  glass  flew  in  every  direction  about  the 
room ;  a  large  stone  broke  through  the  shutter  and 
window,  and  struck  the  middle  of  the  floor  not  far  from 
the  spot  where  the  two  were  standing.  A  sharp  frag- 
ment of  glass  hit  Miss  Winslow  in  the  face,  and  cut 
her  slightly,  just  enough  to  start  a  little  stream  of 
blood,  which  trickled  down  her  clieek  and  dropped  on 
the  hand  that  held  the  picture.  This  she  put  at  once 
upon  the  table  whence  it  had  been  taken,  and  shrunk 
back  several  paces,  with  a  look  of  mingled  terror  and 
anxiety. 

The  dark  demon,  who  had  placed  himself  between 
the  two  at  4fctervals  during  the  entire  evening,  had 
now  apparently  fulfilled  his  warning.  The  insuffer 
able  but  unseen  presence  was  felt  more  strongly  than 
ever  before.  Again  was  heard  outside  that  fatal 
rustle  of  the  bushes,  more  distinct  than  it  had  been 
previously;  then  a  strange,  low  growl,  like  the  gut- 
tural admonition  of  a  wild  beast,  came  through  the 
broken  window-pane,  and  immediately  a  hurried  but 
stealthy  tramp  of  footsteps  died  away  in  the  darkness. 

The  other  members  of  the  family  heard  the  noise  and 
rushed  in  from  various  quarters  of  the  house.  They 
found  Henry  and  Miss  Winslow  standing  far  asunder, 
and  stupified  with  amazement  and  horror.     Neither  of 


168  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

them  could  give  any  explanation  of  what  had  happened. 
It  may  also  be  stated  that  they  were  not  able  to  tell 
what  was  transpiring  in  the  room  just  before  the  mys- 
terious occurrence.  Mr.  Charles  Firestone,  the  soldier 
of  the  family,  who  chanced  to  be  in  the  sitting-room 
not  far  off,  dashed  out  into  the  night  after  the  sup- 
posed mischief-maker ;  he  beat  the  bushes,  and  glared 
into  the  fence-corners,  but  he  could  not  find  or  see 
any  trace  of  a  human  being. 

Miss  Winslow  was  soon  collected,  she  resumed  her 
habitual  fixed  smile  and  her  steady  demeanor.  She 
declared  her  entire  ignorance  of  the  cause  of  the  mis- 
chance, but  cast  a  strangely  suspicious  look  at  little 
Trolla,  who  was  hovering  about  in  the  background 
of  the  compan}- ,  evidently  in  secret  glee.  But  Trolla 
had  been  with  the  family  in  the  sitting-room  all  even- 
ing ;  moreover,  were  she  capable  of  the  deed,  she  had 
not  the  strength  to  hurl  the  stone.  There  is  no  doubt, 
however,  that  she  showed  her  satisfaction  at  the  inci- 
dent in  many  a  little  titter  and  grimace.  IBut  no  ques- 
tioning could  get  from  her  any  light  upon  the  cause 
of  the  occurrence. 

The  blood  was  still  running  down  the  cheek  of  the 
school-mistress  ;  Henry  stepped  up  and  gallantly  wiped 
it  awa}^  with  his  handkerchief,  saying:  "I  hope  you 
are  not  hurt." 

"  Nothing  serious,"  she  replied  with  a  formal  nod 
of  the  head. 

She  turned  to  go  out  of  the  door  for  the  purpose  of 
returning  home ;  Henry  followed  her  with  sympathy. 
When  they  were  sufiiciently  distant  from  the  rest  of 
the  people,  who  were  occupied  with  their  own  wonder 


IN   THE    HOUSE    OF   THE    FIRESTONES.         169 

and  conjectures  concerning  the  author  of  such  an  act 
of  malice,  she  turned  and  whispered:  *' Say  noth- 
ing.'' 

He  offered  to  conduct  her  to  her  home,  but  she  ab- 
solutely refused,  and  went  at  once  out  into  the  street 
alone,  determined  to  go  to  her  quarters  unescorted,  as 
was  her  custom.  She  left  the  picture  of  the  youth 
behind,  lying  on  the  table,  with  its  white  ivory  crim- 
soned by  one  drop  of  her  blood. 

As  she  passed  down  the  side-walk,  a  dark  figure 
darted  out  of  an  alley,  shuffled  along  hastily  before 
her  for  a  short  distance,  then  crossed  to  the  opposite 
side  of  the  street.  She  heard  indistinct  mutterings, 
which  vividly  recalled  the  low  growl  that  came  through 
the  broken  window-pane  so  ominously ;  was  it  man  or 
beast?  The  shape  passed  before  a  bright  light  which 
shone  from  a  dwelling ;  she  saw  in  the  flash  rapid  and 
vehement  gesticulations,  which  startled  her  anew  by 
their  strangeness.  In  that  momentary  flare  of  illumina- 
tion, they  were  impressed  so  deeply  upon  her  mind, 
that,  when  she  reached  home,  and  was  in  bed,  she 
could  still  hear  the  suppressed  growl,  and  see  the 
frenzied  movements  of  the  dark  figure.  In  this  ex- 
cited mood  she  went  to  sleep,  after  a  long  spell  of 
wakefulness,  and  slid  into  dreams,  which  repeated  in  a 
thousand  grotesque  forms  the  marvelous  experiences 
of  the  evening. 


CHAPTER  FIFTH. 


FROM   THE    LIFE    OF  THE    OLD    SINQEB. 


Whisper,  whisper  together 

From  the  ends  of  the  opposite  winds; 
Whisper,  whisper  whenever 

The  Earth  has  parted  two  minds; 
In  the  ear  of  the  Southeast  speak, 

Bid  him  hasten  and  tell;  . 
I  shall  sing  in  the  Northwest  bleak, 

And  reply:  It  is  well. 

The  voice  which  sang  this  verse  took  a  special  de- 
light in  dwelling  upon  the  last  words ;  it  rolled  them 
over  and  over  in  a  great  variety  of  musical  candences, 
and  repeated  in  many  happy  turns,  "It  is  well." 
But  even  this  was  not  enough ;  the  man,  when  he  had 
ceased  to  sing,  spoke  aloud  to  himself,   '•  It  is  well.'- 

This  man  was  the  old  Fiddler,  who  was  again  sitting 
under  the  Tall  Apple  Tree,  while  little  puffs  of  the 
breeze  twirled  his  thin  gray  locks,  as  if  some  invisible 
hand  was  playing  with  them.  The  sound  of  his  Instru- 
ment, across  whose  strings  he  gently  drew  his  bow, 
was  in  pure  accord  with  the  light,  musical  rustle  of  the 
air;  the  two  ran  into  one  melody,  which  formed  a  soft 
(170) 


FROM    THE    LIFE    OF    THE    OLD    SINGEK.        171 

undertone  of  feathery  murmurs  to  the  old  man's  voice. 
He  seemed  to  have  caught  that  elusive  musician,  the 
wind,  and  made  him  play  accompaniment  to  the  song. 
The  sigh  of  the  breeze  passed  insensibly  into  words  ; 
no  ear  could  tell  exactly  where  the  one  ceased  and  the 
other  began. 

Still  the  old  man  showed  signs  of  struggle.  He  tried 
to  stand  up,  he  rose  with  effort,  but  at  last  he  straight- 
ened out  to  his  full  stature,  and  looked  into  the 
branches  of  the  tree,  saying,  "It  is  well."  He  not 
only  uttered  in  his  words,  but  showed  in  his  face  the 
harmonious  adjustment  of  a  soul  to  the  supreme  order 
of  the  world,  in  defiance  of  all  adversity.  One  seemed 
to  hear,  long  after  he  had  ceased  to  speak,  a  continu- 
ous echo  in  the- heart:   "  It  is  well." 

The  afternoon  was  advanced,  the  declining  sun 
threw  a  calm  illumination  through  every  furrow  of  the 
old  singer's  face;  a  smile  of  contentment  ran  fitfully 
over  his  features,  yet  it  would  sometimes  break  into  a 
look  of  longing.  He  evidently  was  hoping  to  see  some 
object  on  this  spot,  and  possibly  sought  to  charm  it 
into  his  presence  by  his  strain.  He  indeed  seemed  to 
whisper  with  the  breeze  in  secret  conference  and  to 
send  a  message  upon  it  to  some  unknown  listener. 

He  had  been  in  the  village  a  few  daj's,  and  had  at- 
tracted attention  everywhere  by  his  unusual  occupation. 
The  general  opinion  appeared  to  be  that  he  was  harm- 
less, but  unbalanced  ;  he  was  allowed  to  rove  at  will,  and 
sing  his  lullaby  to  his  own  heart.  He  went  into  the 
shops  and  looked  at  the  trades  ;  he  visited  the  shoemaker 
on  the  bench,  the  blacksmith  at  the  forge,  the  farmerat 
the  plough  ;  he  would  always  give  a  helping  hand,  where 


172  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

he  saw  it  needed  ;  he  would  put  on  the  winch  and 
turn  the  grindstone,  to  sharpen  the  axe  of  the  passing 
wood-chopper  or  the  sc^^the  of  the  lone  mower.  If  a 
wrong  was  done  in  his  presence,  it  was  written  on  his 
face  in  lines  that  burned  whoever  read  them ;  he  came 
and  went  like  a  recording  angel ;  he  smote  with  his  look 
both  the  active  doer,  and  the  indifferent  spectator  of 
a  cruel  deed. 

That  marvelous  eye  of  his  would,  at  times,  turn  in- 
ward and  close ;  then  it  would  burst  open,  rush  out- 
ward and  seize  the  world.  There  were  moments  in 
which  he  appeared  strong,  full  of  red  blood  ;  then  he 
would  relapse  into  paleness  that  hinted  of  the  spirit  dis- 
embodied. Nobody  could  tell  whence  he  came  or 
whither  he  was  going.  His  visit  to  Freeburg  was  but 
a  segment  of  a  great  cycle  of  existence,  which  was 
drawn  both  on  earth  and  in  heaven. 

After  standing  a  while,  his  inner  perturbation 
calmed  somewhat,  and  he  took  his  seat  again,  ex- 
claiming: "  It  must  not  be  mere  stoicism,  it  must  not 
be  simply  a  passive  endurance,  which  blunts  the 
thousand  keen  needle-points  of  feeling  ;  it  must  be  an 
eager  acceptance,  it  must  be  a  rapt  participation.  O, 
this  mighty  discipline !  But  it  can  not  cease  till  it 
has  carried  us  upward  to  the  throne,  and  endowed  us 
with  the  very  vision  and  deed  of  Providence." 

Again  he  began  to  sing  the  song,  and  appeared  to 
be  transformed  into  a  spirit  of  the  wind  more  com- 
pletely than  before.  His  heart-strings  were  struck  by 
that  low  breeze  coming  from  the  unknown  distance ; 
half-suppressed  sighs  were  the  response,  his  voice 
faltered,  he  dropped  his  instrument.     The  true  singer 


FROM   THE    LIFE    OF   THE    OLD    SINGER.       173 

is  always  most  deeply  affected  by  his  own  song ;  it  is 
his  life  which  suddenly  becomes  musical,  his  experi- 
ence which  is  transmitted  into  winged  words,  soaring 
heavenward  in  a  golden  atmosphere  of  harmony.  The 
iron  fetters  of  fate,  which  hold  him  a  prisoner,  are 
melted  in  the  furnace  of  song,  and  are  forged  anew 
into  the  armor  of  freedom. 

The  old  man  looked  up  into  the  tree,  where  the 
leaves  rustled  ;  those  whispering  tones  seemed  to  be 
borne  from  a  far-off  land  ;  they  were  the  words  of  two 
separated  souls,  yet  strangely  meeting  and  speaking 
in  song.  He  had  heard  the  voice  of  the  wind,  and 
was  wafted  in  its  breath  to  the  heart  of  his  secret. 
There  came  a  tender  message  from  bej'ond,  which 
he,  in  his  high  moments,  could  hear  out  of  his  own 
strains. 

While  he  was  singing,  the  figure  of  a  woman 
dressed  in  white  came  out  upon  the  veranda  of  the 
school-house,  which  stood  at  a  little  distance,  and  over- 
looked the  spot  where  the  old  man  had  taken  position. 
She  gazed  and  listened,  as  if  she  might  have  heard 
those  notes  before ;  she  seemed  intent,  if  one  might 
judge  by  her  pensive  attitude,  not  so  much  upon  the 
enjoyment  of  the  music  as  upon  the  memories  it  sug- 
gested. The  voice  of  the  singer  had,  indeed,  a  far-off 
dreamy  tone  which  caused  her  to  wonder  both  at  its 
familiarity  and  its  remoteness. 

He  noticed  that  white  shape  with  surprise,  as  it 
seemed  to  drift  into  his  song  just  at  the  right  moment, 
when  his  mood  was  at  the  highest  and  when  the  strange 
appearance  gave  a  kind  of  body  to  his  longing.  The 
features  of  the  shadowy  woman  could  not  be  distinctly 


174  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

seen  by  bim  at  so  great  a  distance ;  still  he  stood  and 
gazed  ;  of  a  sudden,  she  made  an  involuntary  gesture, 
which  thrilled  him  through  and  through.  He  had  seen 
that  gesture  before,  it  had  some  intimate  hold  upon  him, 
it  drove  his  memory  into  a  thousand  directions  to  find 
out  to  whom  it  belonged.  But  memory  returned 
without  the  face  or  the  name  of  the  owner,  and  left 
him  in  the  lap  of  his  own  mystery.  Meantime  he  had 
ceased  singing ;  the  white  lady  soon  turned,  and  went 
back  into  the  building. 

The  old  man  was  perplexed  at  her  disappearance ; 
he  sought  to  charm  her  out  of  her  hiding-place  again, 
and  began  to  sing  another  verse.  After  a  few  moments 
her  while  form  was  seen  through  the  window,  at  which 
she  stood  and  listened.  '* There,  there!"  he  cried, 
"  that  movement  of  the  arm  I  know  !"  He  continued 
the  song ;  he  felt  that  she  was  in  the  stream  of  the 
melody  somehow,  and  would  be  borne  forward  by  it, 
till  she  did  all  that  he  wished  of  her.  There  is  often 
a  feeling  of  prophecy  in  music.  She  soon  left  the 
window,  came  outside  and  stood  against  a  pillar, 
which  supported  the  veranda.  He  had  seen  that  fig- 
ure and  that  attitude  before;  but  where  and  when? 
She  seemed  to  answer  his  whisper  on  the  breeze,  not 
merely  from  the  spot  where  she  stood,  but  from  some 
remote  time  and  place,  which  he  vainly  grappled  for 
in  the  great  ocean  of  oblivion. 

He  stopped  his  song  for  a  while,  or  rather  he  ran  it 
over  into  an  exclamation.  *'  How  all  our  existence," 
he  cried,  "  is  linked  together,  though  the  chain  often 
sinks  out  of  sight!  I  tug  at  this  end  of  the  chain,  I 
see  it  move  in  a  glimmer  yonder,  far  at  the  other  end, 


FROM    THE    LIFE    OF    THE    OLD    SIXGER.        175 

but  the  intervening  portion  lies  somewhere  under  the 
dark  waters  of  Lethe,  and  I  cannot  raise  it  to  the 
surface.  The  incidents  of  life,  I  know,  cannot  be 
isolated  altogether  ;  the}-  are  children  showing  the  ex- 
act features  of  some  ancestral  incident,  which  has  a 
continuous  power  of  reproduction  through  ages ; 
after  a  given  time  the  Great  Mother  will  bear  another 
son,  who  will  also  hnve  progeny  and  perpetuate  him- 
self. Speak  to  me  not  of  death ;  this  little  pebble 
thrown  into  the  stream  of  Time,  sends  wavelets 
through  Eternity." 

It  cannot  be  doubted  that  the  white  figure  in  its 
turn  felt  a  strange  power  in  the  old  man's  voice.  We 
sometimes  meet  persons,  whom  we  think  to  have  seen 
before,  but  find  out  that  we  never  have  ;  we  may  also 
hear  words  and  music  which  sound  familiar,  but  which 
we  have  never  heard  previously;  in  a  foreign  land, 
which  we  have  never  before  visited,  we  may  pass 
through  a  bit  of  woods  that  seems  well-known  ;  even 
actions  in  rare  moments  we  perform,  the  lines  of 
which  seem  to  be  laid  down  for  us  in  advance  by  some 
Power,  and  in  these  lines  we  have  to  move  consciously 
or  unconsciously. 

Some  such  thing  happened  to  the  lady  on  the  ver- 
anda ;  she  had  heard  that  voice  before,  it  was  familiar  ; 
but  the  familiarity  was  only  a  correspondence  to  some- 
thing within  her,  which  had  been  awakened  by  the 
song,  and  which  already  existed  latent  in  her  soul. 
Memory  was  not  able  to  connect  this  experience  with 
any  knowledge  of  former  years.  Out  of  the  remote 
twilight  of  infancy  those  sounds  appeared  to  be  floating 
at  times,  then  they  would  sink  away  into  utter  darkness. 


176  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

The  old  man,  however,  did  not  stop  his  song,  but 
poured  it  forth  still,  with  increasing  power  and  purity, 
till  it  wholly  ran  in  those  unconscious  undercurrents 
of  life,  to  which  all  true  poetry  reaches  down  and 
quaffs  the  intoxicating  elixir  of  its  own  being.  It 
dropped  at  times  into  a  weird  whisper  from  beyond,  or, 
again,  into  a  storm-wind  of  the  present ;  it  plainly  drew 
from  the  secret  sources  of  nature,  in  which  old,  worn 
out  words  were  baptized,  and  came  forth  gleaming 
with  a  new  youth.  The  white  form  was  visibly  moved, 
and  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  with  a  slight 
bend  of  the  head  to  one  side,  as  if  listening  for  some- 
thing almost  inaudible.  The  contour  seemed  chalked 
upon  the  air  in  an  intense  vividness,  the  attitude  was 
just  what  he  once  saw  at  a  critical  moment  of  his 
life  from  one  whom  he  had  never  seen  since. 

Now  he  began  to  remember.  The  shadow  of  the 
afternoon  was  deepening  ;  that  white  shape  stood  there 
like  a  light-encircled  ghost,  the  material  part  had  in- 
deed quite  faded  out  and  vanished  ;  memory  flew  in, 
bearing  an  image,  and  the  outlines  of  that  attitude 
were  filled  by  a  spirit,  whom  he  saw  rise  out  of  another 
world.  The  more  he  sang,  the  more  was  his  vision 
enkindled,  till  many  scenes  of  his  life  rose  and  floated 
around  the  white  figure  leaning  over  on  the  veranda. 

But  the  scene  begins  to  change,  something  else  is 
insinuating  itself,  preluded  by  a  few  shreds  of  darken- 
ing cloudlets.  The  old  man  noticed  them  and  exclaim- 
ed:  "What  is  the  matter  with  my  vision?  It  is 
suddenly  growing  dim,  I  can  no  longer  see  so  well ;  a 
cloud  has  floated  before,  or,  rather,  into  that  clear 
shape,  and  yet  there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky  a 


\ 


FROM  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  OLD  SINGER.   177 

moment  ago.  The  obscuration  must  be  in  me ;  the 
fair  image  has  become  turbid  and  tarnished.  What 
dark  angel  is  placing  himself  between  me  and  yon 
dear  object  —  dark  as  night,  terrible  as  the  destroyer! 
In  me,  yet  outside  of  me  too!  " 

II. 

He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words,  when  he  rose  in 
great  agitation ;  suddenly  he  was  startled  by  a  noise 
which  he  heard  just  behind  him.  He  turned  around, 
a  gleam  of  sunlight  shot  into  his  eyes,  which  made 
him  wince.  The  cause  of  the  noise  he  beheld  ;  it  was 
a  little  girl  with  a  bright  face  enshrouded  in  a  dark 
wreath  of  hair  ;  she  stood  near  him,  yet  she  had  a  look 
of  timidity.  She  had  slipped  out  of  the  bushes  of  the 
garden  which  was  not  for  away  ;  he  recognized  her  and 
spoke,  calling  her  to  his  scat,  which  he  had  resumed. 
She  was  shy  and  stood  peering  above  the  leaves  of  the 
bushes  around  her,  like  a  little  wood-nymph,  in  silent 
hesitation.  He  noticed  her  eyes  swimming  in  a  trans- 
lucent flood,  whose  drops  soon  fell  into  the  grass  and 
left  a  clear,  coy  smile. 

It  was  little  Trolla,  who  had  once  before  listened 
to  the  old  singer,  and  had  been  deeply  moved  by  his 
song.  At  present  she  had  stolen  away  from  the  house, 
when  she  heard  it,  and  went  toward  the  Tall  Apple 
Tree,  being  enticed  a  step  further  by  each  new  verse. 

"Will  you  not  sing  that  song  again?''  she    asked. 

"  Why,  do  you  like  it,  my  little  miss?  " 

"  Oh  3^es,  I  like  it,  and  I  live  it  while  you  sing.'* 

"Tell  me  how  that  can  be." 
12 


178  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

"  It  somehow  makes  me  hear  myself.'' 

''  But  do  you  not  hear  yourself  when  you  speak 
now?" 

*'  No,  I  do  not  hear  myself  except  when  you  sing." 

"  What  is  that  which  you  hear  when  you  talk?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  —  it  is  something  else.  But  will 
you  not  sing  for  me  once  more?  " 

"  It  makes  you  weep;  I  saw  you  shedding  tears." 

*'  So  much  the  more  it  is  mine." 

At  this  strange  answer  the  old  man  turned  around 
and  looked  again  toward  the  veranda  of  the  school- 
house.  The  white  form  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  He 
adjusted  his  instrument  and  began  to  sing ;  but  his 
song  was  not  the  same,  though  he  chanted  the  same 
words  to  the  same  tune.  He  never  could  sing  the 
second  time  like  the  first.  The  surroundings  were 
altered,  the  moment  had  changed  and  he  felt  it,  sen- 
sitive as  he  was  to  every  breath  in  his  environment. 

Equally  excellent  was  his  singing  perhaps,  but  wholly 
different  was  its  meaning.  Can  human  speech  change 
its  signification  so  suddenly?  There  is  no  doubt 
that  another  master  had  taken  possession,  was  beating 
another  time,  and  was  giving  another  key-note.  Lan- 
guage is  but  the  pliant  material  of  an  invisible  genius, 
who  seizes  it  and  kneads  it  at  will  into  a  thousand 
shapes,  into  which,  though  it  be  only  passing  sound, 
he  breathes  the  breath  of  life. 

A  feeling  of  sorrow  began  to  vibrate  through  the  old 
singer  in  spite  of  himself ;  it  swept  through  the  strings 
as  well  as  attuned  his  voice.  The  song  before  had  the 
note  of  mastery  ;  though  destiny  had  struck  her  hardest 
blow,  the  man  had  not  been  felled  to  earth ;  or,  if  he 


FROM    THE    LIFE    OF    THE    OLD    SINGER.        179 

had  fallen,  he  rose  again  and  marched  on  victoriously 
to  his  freedom.  But  now  the  music  changed  charac- 
ter; it  had  doubt,  anxiety  for  the  future,  deepening 
into  pain ;  it  was  the  note  of  Fate. 

So  overwhelmed  was  the  singer,  that  when  he  came 
to  the  refrain  "  It  is  well,"  he  could  hardly  sing  it; 
indeed  he  did  not  sing  it,  but  thrust  it  out  of  himself 
by  sheer  violence.  It  had  become  a  false  chord, 
though  harmonious  once  ;  these  words  which  he  bad 
before  dwelt  upon  with  a  peculiar  expression  of  tri- 
umph in  many  winding  turns  and  melodious  repeti- 
tions, he  had  to  shorten  and  pen  up  in  the  narrowest 
limits  of  his  utterance.  He  felt  the  change  so  pain- 
fully that  he  came  to  a  sudden  stop  ;  he  seemed,  even 
in  voice,  to  run  up  against  the  impassible  wall  of  destiny. 

His  song  had  come  to  this  abrupt  end,  when  Trolla 
drew  still  nearer  and  asked :  — 

"  Let  me  sing?  " 

*' Do  you  know  the  tune  ?* ' 

"  I  can  follow  it." 

"  But  do  3^ou  know  the  lines?  " 

*'  I  can  make  them." 

"  You  can?     How  is  that,  my  little  maid?  ' 

"They  always  come  of  themselves  after  I  have 
heard  you  " 

"  Then  you  have  tried  already." 
'Yes,  often." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  when  you  began?  " 

"  After  I  had  listened  to  you  the  other  day." 

"  Let  me  hear  you." 

His  surprise  was  great,  when  Trolla,  after  placing 
her  hands  in  an  attitude  of  resignation  upon  her  breast, 


180  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

began  to  sing  to  the  same  tune  and  measure  which  he 
had  just  employed.  She  made  some  little  variation  of 
her  own,  but  she  had  caught  the  strain.  When  she  had 
hummed  the  music,  she  broke  at  once  into  the  follow- 
ing verse,  which  was  a  dark,  fateful  echo  of  the  old 
singer's  lines:  — 

Whisper,  oh  whisper  in  sorrow, 

And  tell  me  of  Death; 
I  shall  ride  on  his  swift  wings  to-morrow, 

And  give  him  my  breath. 

The  old  man's  former  amazement  was  now  chilled 
to  horror  ;  he  shuddered  at  the  last  line,  which  showed 
him  a  child  with  such  a  thought  in  its  soul.  Yet  he 
must  have  known  that  the  idea  of  death  is  by  no 
means  unfamiliar  to  childhood  even ;  that  this  idea 
takes  a  strong  hold  upon  the  earliest  imagination  and 
instinct.  It  may  become  morbid,  but  it  has  also  its 
place  in  the  healthy  mental  organization.  The  limit 
of  life  is  the  overwhelming  fact  of  life,  supreme  above 
all  others,  and  cannot  be  rooted  out  of  the  mind  of 
any  living  person.  Infancy  stands  as  near  to  the  end 
as  age,  and  much  nearer  to  the  beginning,  which  is 
only  another  sort  of  end. 

The  old  man,  however,  had  found  the  presence 
which  disturbed  him,  which  had  subtly  penetrated  his 
mood  and  transformed  his  song.  He  was  so  sensitive 
to  this  influence  because  it  lay  already  in  him,  and  the 
external  occasion  was  only  needed  to  call  it  forth  into 
activity.  The  mighty  undertow  of  his  inner  ocean 
had  seized  him,  he  was  aware  that  he  had  to  make  a 
strong  effort  to  stem  that  secret  current. 


FROM  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  OLD  SINGER.   181 

He  grasped  for  his  instrument  and  looked  at  the 
young  girl  standing  near  him  in  the  full  bloom  and 
freshness  of  life.  He  gave  a  glance  toward  the  de- 
clining sun  ;  it  was  that  celestial  object  from  which  he 
always  drew  inspiration  and  imagery.  The  shade  of 
the  Tall  Apple  Tree  had  lengthened  till  it  reached 
across  the  little  valle}^  of  the  brook,  and  almost 
touched  the  veranda  where  the  white  lady  once  stood ; 
the  top  of  its  shadow  seemed  to  support  the  school- 
house,  nicely  balanced  on  a  point.  He  straightened 
himself  up  in  vigor.  He  flung  the  last  sigh  away  as  if 
to  get  rid  of  it ;  he  again  looked  upon  the  fair  young 
being  before  him,  as  she  stood  emblazoned  in  the  rays 
of  the  sinking  luminary. 

"  What  sun  is  setting?  "  he  thought  to  himself. 
"  Is  it  youth?     Is  it  age?  '* 

He  pressed  his  violin  more  closdy  to  his  breast,  as 
if  he  might  impart  to  it  directly  from  the  heart  the 
very  pulse  'of  human  life.  The  notes  wonderfully 
blended  with  the  sunshine,  giving  to  it  a  golden  voice, 
which  at  last  arose  and  throbbed  into  articulate  speech 
in  the  following  verse :  — 

Bright  child,  thy  rising  sun 

May  seem  my  setting  one ; 
But  if  we  look  beyond  to  whence  they  came, 
The  rising  and  the  setting  sun  are  both  the  same. 

Meanwhile  Trolla  had  quietly  slipped  forward,  and 
put  a  wreath  of  flowers  and  leaves  upon  his  head ;  but 
the  frail  band  broke,  and  covered  him  with  fragrance 
and  color.  Then  she,  almost  without  his  notice,  deftly 
pinned  a  forget-me-not  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat  saying: 


182  THE    FREEBURGEKS. 

*'  There,  that  is  yonrs,  you  must  not  lose  it."  As  she 
came  nearer,  he  looked  more  closely  into  her  eyes ;  he 
was  surprised,  indeed  fascinated  ;  he  thought  he  recog- 
nized lines  in  her  face  which  were  familiar,  and  which 
brought  him  inexpressible  longing.  Or,  were  they 
merely  images  carried  over  from  his  previous  vision  of 
the  white  lady?  The  eye,  when  closed  after  intently 
looking  on  some  bright  object,  will  see  the  same  still, 
nay,  it  will  see,  when  open,  that  same  object  beneath 
other  objects  which  are  present  to  the  sense  of  sight. 
There  was  a  strange  transference  of  feeling  and 
thought  between  the  two  experiences  of  the  day ;  he 
reached  for  the  little  maiden,  but  she  eluded  his  grasp, 
though  she  kept  hovering  near  at  hand.  He  asked 
her:  — 

"  My  little  miss,  what  is  your  name?  " 

"They  call  me  Trolla." 

"  But  what  is  your  parents'  name?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  I  never  heard  it  in  my  life.*' 

''Explain  to  me  how  that  can  be,"  said  the  old 
man  in  bewilderment. 

"  I  was  found  in  an  emigrant  wagon  when  I  was  a 
baby,  and  since  then  I  have  lived  in  this  town. " 

"Do  you  not  know  whence  you  came?" 

"  Nobody  knows." 

"Have  you  no  brother  or  sister? " 

"lam  alone.' 

These  last  words,  spoken  in  an  innocent  and  by  no 
means  sorrowful  tone,  touched  the  old  man  in  his 
heart  of  hearts ;  he  looked  up  into  the  branches  of  the 
Tall  Apple  Tree  to  hide  his  emotion,  and  possibly,  to 
suggest  the  help  for  these  trials.     The  old  and  the 


1 


FROM  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  OLD  SINGER.   183 

young  have  the  same  discipline  of  life  at  bottom  ;  the 
rising  and  the  setting  sun,  apparently  separated  b}' 
the  entire  diameter  of  the  physical  universe,  are  really 
one  body  and  in  one  place.  Human  existence  appears 
as  a  river  that  leaps  out  of  the  earth  at  a  certain 
hour,  sparkling  along  in  the  sunlight  for  a  time,  then 
sinking  away  into  subterranean  darkness  again,  ap- 
parently lost.  Must  we  not  think  that  the  stream, 
in  all  its  meanderings,  is  going  towards  its  fountain- 
head,  is  seeking  the  great  return  to  its  primordial 
source? 

Trolla  and  the  old  Fiddler,  placed  at  the  opposite 
ends  of  human  life,  seemed  there  to  show  its  essential 
unity  ;  they  were  bodily  images  of  the  beginning  and 
end,  which,  however,  are  one  at  last. 

ni. 

The  wagon  in  which  Trolla  had  been  found,  stood 
beside  a  smoldering  camp-fire  not  far  from  Freeburg ; 
the  people  and  even  the  horses  which  belonged  to  it, 
had  disappeared.  The  cry  of  a  child  was  heard,  an 
investigation  was  made  by  a  passing  neighbor,  and  the 
little,  helpless  stranger  was  brought  to  light.  The 
affair  caused  a  great  stir  in  the  village,  a  search  was 
made  ever3'where  for  the  massing  owners  ;  it  was  sup- 
posed there  had  been  foul  play ;  but  if  there  was  a 
murder,  there  had  never  been  discovered  any  trace  of 
the  murderers  or  the  murdered. 

The  articles  in  the  wagon  were  examined,  but  no 
clew  could  be  found  ;  the  little  writing  was  in  a  strange 
tongue  ;  the  garments  had  a  foreign  look,  yet  with  cer- 


184  THli   FRfiEBURGERS. 

tain  familiar  cliaracteristics,  which  made  tile  confusion 
greater.  But  it  was  generally  concluded,  that  the  old 
world  had  furnished  the  little  stranger.  For  this  con- 
clusion, however,  no  satisfactory  ground  had  ever 
been  given.  The  matter  always  remained  suspended 
between  heaven  and  earth,  just  where  it  was  found. 

Mr.  Firestone,  with  the  consent  of  everybody,  took 
the  child  in  charge ;  the  effects  found  with  it  were 
stowed  away,  till  the  owner  might  appear ;  the  wagon 
was  sold  at  a  fair  price,  and  the  money  religiously 
saved  for  the  little  foundling.  It  was,  in  particular, 
Aunt  Polly,  whose  tender  heart  went  out  toward  the 
kinlesQ  orphan ;  she  urged  her  brother  to  take  it  home 
and  provide  for  it.  A  strong  bond  had  grown  up  be- 
tween the  two ;  it  was  Aunt  Polly,  wlio  stood  as  its 
only  known  mother  ;  yet  the  tie  was  not  a  maternal  one, 
but  that  of  intimate  union  in  spirit.  Still  on  points 
they  differed  ;  but  differences  were  the  lock  and  key, 
which  fastened  their  lives  harmoniously  together. 

Some  old  boxes,  that  had  been  preserved,  had  not 
yet  been  opened ;  it  was  supposed  they  contained  only 
common  household  goods.  The  time  had  now  come  in 
TroUa's  life  when  she  wished  to  take  a  peep  into  these 
boxes,  to  see  if  she  could  not  solve  the  mystery  of  her 
origin.  She  had  dropped  out  of  an  unknown  world 
into  a  known  existence;  she  was  peculiar  in  her 
thoughts,  in  her  looks,  in  her  dress ;  the  riddle  of  her 
life  seemed  to  be  entwined  in  her  actions,  and  to 
enter  into  her  character. 

She  thus  stood  in  contrast  to  the  children  about  her ; 
they  all  could  account  for  themselves,  they  had  at 
least  one  generation  of  ancestors.     At  first,  nobody 


FROM    THE    LIFE    OF    THE    OLD    SINGER.        185 

could  understand  her  speech,  and  her  utterances  could 
never  quite  reach  the  American  accent ;  there  was  in  it 
still  a  hint  of  what  was  out  of  reach.  She  was  mysti- 
fying to  herself  and  to  others,  without  design  —  truly 
a  child  of  the  unknown.  Yet  a  vague,  childish  memory 
would  at  times  bring  back  the  face  of  a  mother,  as  she 
hung  ovei  her  infant.  Perhaps  this  is  the  earliest  pict- 
ure which  the  human  brain  receives,  and  remains  to 
the  last.  Certainly  no  father  ever  hovered  before 
Trolla. 

One  box  was  opened,  and  Trolla  found  a  certain 
costume,  which  excited  her  wonder  but  gave  no  knowl- 
edge. Nobody  in  the  village  was  able  to  tell  to  what 
nation  the  peculiar  garments  belonged.  She  hung 
them  up,  and  carefully  preserved  them,  as  if  they 
might  at  some  time  have  a  tongue,  and  tell  their  story. 
In  certain  moods,  she  would  go  and  look  at  them  in 
the  garret,  where  she  could  be  alone  and  undisturbed. 
How  she  longed  to  make  them  speak !  She  knew  they 
had  a  history  ;  as  she  could  not  read  it,  she  made  it ;  she 
habitually  drove  her  young  thoughts  beyond  the  limit 
of  fact,  she  passed  into  the  realm  of  the  unbounded, 
her  life  became  largely  intermingled  with  her  imagina- 
tion. She  stood  nearer  to  the  unknown  world  than 
any  other  child  in  Freeburg  and  her  known  world,  in  a 
sort  of  spiritual  sympathy,  began  to  turn  into  a  dream- 
land. 

One  Sunday,  not  long  before  the  period  at  which  we 
have  arrived,  Aunt  Polly  said  to  Trolla,  in  a  way 
which  implied  a  gentle  command  :  — 

'*  Trolla,  it  is  time  to  get  ready  for  church." 

The  child  begged :   "  O  let  me  off  to-day." 


186  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

"What  is  the  matter?  " 

"I  do  not  like  to  go,"  she  spoke,  showing  strong 
unwillingness. 

"Tell  me,  what  has  come  over  you?  " 

"It  hurts  me  to  remain  in  those  high  walls  of  the 
church.     It  pains  me  often  to  hear  the  talk." 

"What  will  you  do  if  j^ou  stay  at  home?  " 

"  I  would  like  to  hunt  through  the  old  boxes.'* 

"  What  can  you  find  there?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  but  I  wish  to  know." 

"You  are  like  Henry,  whose  desire  is  to  find  what  is 
hidden  in  the  old  books  of  the  library." 

"  I  think  I  am,  too."  TroUa  spoke  this  in  a  flash 
of  jojs  as  it  connected  her  with  Henry. 

"  Well,  I  have  too  much  of  the  same  spirit  in  me  to 
refuse  j'ou.     You  may  remain  at  home." 

Aunt  Polly  went  and  said  her  prayers  alone  that 
day,  but  in  them  she  did  not  forget  her  little  ward  left 
at  home. 

Trolla  was  always  restless  at  church  ;  she  longed  for 
the  fields  and  flowers ;  the  four  walls  on  Sunday 
seemed  to  cramp  her,  to  make  the  infinite  spirit  very 
limited ;  the  unbounded  realm  of  nature  gave  her  the 
sense  not  only  of  freedom  but  of  adoration.  The  idea 
of  pain  was  intensely  disagreeable  to  her,  and  pain 
itself  she  had  no  command  over.  Her  response  to  it 
was  strong,  immediate.  The  suffering  of  the  crucifix- 
ion simply  made  her  unhappy ;  her  innocent  soul, 
unconscious  of  sin,  was  plunged  into  the  pain  thereof 
from  without,  and  she  knew  not  why. 

Aunt  Polly  was  a  rather  strict  church  member,  and 
she  regarded  it  as  a  duty  to  attend  one  service  at  least 


FROM    TIIK    LIFE    OF    'J  HE    OLD    SINGER.        187 

every  Sunday.  But  Trolla,  after  being  penned  up  a 
couple  of  hours  and  listening  to  a  long  sermon,  began 
to  shun  tlie  sight  of  a  church.  That  Sunday,  however, 
on  which  she  stayed  at  home  and  looked  through  her 
ancestral  mementos,  remained  an  unhappy  day  for  all 
her  life. 

She  found,  among  the  effects  in  the  boxes,  a  cruci- 
fix with  a  Greek  inscription,  and  took  it  with  her  to 
her  room.  She  asked  what  it  meant,  and  was  told  the 
story,  which,  of  course,  she  had  often  heard  before. 
But  it  now  dawned  upon  her  with  a  strange  intensity 
of  meaning,  that  her  people  had  worshiped  that  ob- 
ject, that  they  had  a  religion  of  pain. 

Trolla  at  once  began  to  change,  she  lost  her  buoy- 
ancy, she  grew  pale,  often  she  seemed  lost  in  herself. 
She  was  passing  through  an  internal  struggle,  she 
sought  to  throw  herself  back  into  that  worship  which 
her  ancestors  accepted  ;  she  tried  to  trace  in  herself  the 
evil  heart  which  was  averse  to  sorrow.  She  forced 
herself  into  the  thought  of  suffering,  she  lashed  her 
mind  into  introspection,  she  almost  did  her  soul  vio- 
lence in  the  matter  of  going  to  church. 

These  states  of  feelings  were  not,  however,,  contin- 
uous, and  they  seemed  to  be  coupled  with,  and  partly, 
at  least,  to  be  determined  by,  the  great  transition  which 
was  bearing  her  out  of  girlhood.  It  was  evidently  in 
one  of  these  moods  that  she  had  come  upon  the  old 
singer,  and,  in  response  to  his  lines,  had  sung  the 
above  verse.  Death  had  begun  to  be  familiar  to  her 
thoughts ;  and  Death  is  the  all-disposer,  if  he  can 
reach  the  Son  of  God. 

Her  body  began  to  echo  her  spirit.     She  had  been 


188  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

the  finest,  healthiest  child  in  Freeburg ;  but  with  the 
thought  of  the  great  dissolution,  dissolution  itself 
seemed  to  set  in.  As  is  usual  in  such  cases,  nature,  no 
longer  upheld  by  the  mind,  yielded  to  the  attack  of 
the  elements,  which  are,  indeed,  always  attacking. 
Trolla  caught  a  heavy  cold  and  could  not  rally  ;  at  last 
the  time  came  when  she  glided  pale  and  unearthly 
through  the  house,  like  a  spirit. 

But  at  present  she  still  had  vigor,  and  was  with  the 
old  singer  under  the  Tall  Apple  Tree,  whom  she  now 
asked  for  another  song.  He  seemed  to  her  not  only 
to  sing  of,  but  almost  to  be  of  that  unseen  realm  of 
which  she  wished  to  hear.  He  raised  his  bow  and  pla3^ed 
a  short  prelude,  then  he  began  a  simple  ballad  : — 

From  the  hill-tops  a  rainbow  is  bending, 

It  reaches  far  over  the  sea, 
And  a  song  I  hear  with  the  ending, 

O  shepherd,  come  over  to  me. 

There  were  other  verses,  this  was  a  kind  of  refrain 
which  ran  through  the  whole  song. 

Trolla  sat  and  listened,  then  said:  "  I  wish  to  learn 
that  verse  by  heart,  with  its  music." 

"  What  does  it  say  to  you?  " 

"  Much  which  I  cannot  tell." 

''It  speaks  also  to  me,  perhaps  quite  a  different 
thing. ' ' 

'*  I  never  ask  what  a  song  means  to  me." 

"  And  nobody  can  tell  you.  Perhaps  you  cannot 
tell  yourself." 

"  Sing  it  again.    I  think  the  song  is  its  own  meaning.'* 

The  old  man  sang  the  verse  again  with  a  new  in- 


FROM   THE    LIFE    OF    THE    OLD    SINGER.        189 

spiration  ;  it  was  as  if  he  had  himself  heard  the  voice 
calling  to  him  to  come  over  the  sea.  The  song 
brought  back  to  him  ancient  memories,  strong  emo- 
tions ;  the  rainbow  still  bent  over  him,  he  was  old,  he 
thouojht  it  would  not  be  lono^  ere  he  followed  that 
voice.  Behold,  it  was  only  a  step  across.  But  the 
child  at  his  side!  why  should  she  take  part  in  the 
journey?  The  aged  must  pass  on,  but  the  young 
ought  to  stay  their  years  out.  Still  they,  too,  at  times 
must  go  along.  The  two  had  come  nearer  together ; 
the  maiden,  at  first  so  shy,  drew  close  to  the  old  man 
at  last,  touched  him,  leaned  against  him,  sat  down  be- 
side him.  Then  she  asked  for  the  verse  once  more ; 
when  he  had  sung  it,  she  leaned  over  and  kissed  him. 
He  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  both  felt  an  unknown 
sympathy  and  joy  in  their  sudden  look  into  each 
other's  souls.  Age  and  youth  were  one;  the  rising 
and  the  setting  sun  already  seemed  quite  the  same. 

It  was  but  the  trance  of  a  moment,  the  quick  flash 
of  their  spirits  into  a  single  flame,  as  when  fire  and 
powder  kiss.  The  little  maid  looked  up  and  cried: 
"•  0,  let  me  go." 

But  the  old  man  still  sought  to  detain  her,  and 
said,  soothingly:  "  Be  not  afraid.'*  But  she  released 
herself  with  some  terror,  and  ran  off  toward  the  bushes, 
in  which  she  nestled  like  a  frightened  rabbit. 

IV. 

What  was  the  cause  of  this  sudden  alarm  of  Trolla? 
Had  she  felt  a  premonition  of  what  is  forbidden,  and 
ran  off  from  her  own  shudder?     One  thing  is  certain: 


190  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

when  she  looked  up,  she  saw  a  tall,  strange  man  ap- 
proaching, who  seemed,  to  her  imagination,  a  very 
fiend  that  had  all  at  once  risen  out  of  the  earth  to 
catch  her,  and  carry  her  away  in  the  moment  of  her 
joy.  He  came  with  deliberate  step  along  the  valley 
of  the  brook,  and  began  to  ascend  the  knoll  on  which 
the  Tall  Apple  Tree  stood.  As  he  drew  near,  his  face 
showed  a  scoffing  laugh ;  the  large,  uncouth,  long- 
nosed  visage  might  be  taken  for  a  mask  of  the  devil. 
The  maiden  slipped  still  further  off  into  the  bushes  of 
the  garden,  which  offered  abundance  of  covert  places 
near  at  hand  ;  she  was  thoroughly  frightened.  Why 
should  that  horrid  figure  appear  at  such  a  happy 
moment?  The  man  walked  up  to  the  old  singer,  and 
saluted  him  with  a  sort  of  diabolical  leer.  He 
asked :  — 

"  Where  is  that  girl  I  saw  in  your  arms  a  minute 
ago?'* 

The  old  man  felt  the  discordant  spirit  and  deter- 
mined to  wrestle  with  it.  He  responded  to  the 
doggish  smile  with  a  grave,  firm,  yet  reverent 
look :  — 

"  She  is  gone,  sir,  upon  her  own  suggestion.'* 

"  What  made  her  run  off  ?  " 

"She  was  frightened  at  you  —  at  that  smile  you 
now  have  on  your  face." 

"  A  fine  young  doe,"  retorted  the  man,  with  a  know- 
ing grin. 

The  old  singer  said  nothing,  but  face  grappled  with 
face,  and  still  more  intensely,  eye  with  eye ;  the  one 
flashed  indignation,  the  other  had  the  vivid,  salacious 
sparkle   of  the  old  serpent.     The  man  was  not  put 


FROM  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  OLD  SINGER.   191 

down  so  easily ;  he  punched  the  ancient  singer  in  the 
ribs,  and  spoke  with  a  lickerish  titter :  — 

' '  You  lucky  old  stag ! ' ' 

The  latter  was  outraged,  he  would  leave  the  spot, 
and  rose  to  go  away. 

"  Stay!  ''  said  the  man. 

"Yes,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  I  must  stay  and 
conquer,  and  not  run  off,  even  from  the  devil.*'  He 
turned  and  demanded  indignantly :  — 

"  Why  besmirch  innocence?  *' 

"  Why  did  she  slip  away  and  hide?  "  asked  the  man. 

' '  Not  from  guilt ;  you  are  the  cause.  She  was 
frightened  at  your  devil's  face." 

"Yes,  a  face  may  be  a  very  inconvenient  thing  to 
carry  around  with  you." 

"Yours  certainly  betrays  you." 

The  firmness  and  warmth  of  the  old  singer  made  the 
man  stop  and  consider ;  the  look  of  the  latter  began 
to  change,  and  his  words  also  were  different  in  man- 
ner and  meaning.     He  now  said  in  a  kindly  way :  — 

"  I  am  sorry  to  frighten  her.  She  appeared  such  a 
graceful  little  thing  in  the  distance,  I  wished  to  see  her 
near  at  hand.  vShe  seemed  some  elf  flitting  around  the 
tree  and  over  the  green." 

"  The  elf  has  gone,"  said  the  old  man  in  response, 
"  at  your  presence  it  has  dived  into  some  buttercup 
or  other  flower. ' ' 

The  mien  of  the  new-comer  had  still  further  changed. 
He  said:  "  I  know  it.  My  presence  usually  drives  off 
the  fairies  and  the  spirits ;  even  children  often  run 
away  from  me  and  call  me  goblin."     He  added:  — 

"  But  your  presence,  I  judge,  attracts  them," 


192  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  attitude  of  these  two  men 
toward  each  other  had  become  less  strained  than  it 
was  in  the  beginning  of  their  conversation.  The  new- 
comer was  undergoing  a  transformation,  inner  and 
outer ;  not  only  his  face,  but  his  character  showed  a 
decided  change ;  his  spirit  had  become  strangely  sub- 
missive to  the  spell  of  the  old  singer. 

Trolla,  who  was  still  near  enough  in  the  bushes  to 
hear  the  talk,  had  been  by  no  means  comforted  by  it 
in  her  little  terrors.  Still,  she  had  a  desire  to  listen, 
and  so  she  kept  her  hiding  place.  Both  seemed  to  her 
very  peculiar  men,  not  made  after  the  ordinary  village 
pattern ;  she  was  fascinated  by  their  mystery,  which 
was  but  a  weird  echo  of  her  spirit.  She  loved  to  dwell 
in  her  own  clouds,  and  from  them  peep  out  upon  the 
world.,  which,  to  her  young  soul,  was  not  a  thought, 
but  a  foreboding. 

The  new-comer  with  the  ugly  presence  was  our 
whilom  friend,  the  Pedestrian,  who  has  now  revealed  a 
fresh  trait.  "We  have  seen  him  masking  as  a  clown ; 
we  have  wondered  at  him  prophesying  as  a  seer.  To 
these  two  characters  in  the  man,  we  are  compelled  to 
give  a  glimpse  of  a  third :  he  can  also  be  a  satyr  with- 
out assuming  any  mask.  For  has  he  not  shown  dis- 
tinctly his  goat's  foot?  A  most  marvelous  Promethean 
compound  of  human  clay  and  divine  fire,  he  is  only 
comparable  to  a  Greek  God.  He  can  look  down  upon 
the  world  from  Olympian  summits  with  the  vision  of 
Zeus,  and  like  Zeus,  he  can  descend  from  his  celestial 
heights  to  take  the  form  of  a  bull  at  the  sight  of 
the  tresses  of  Europe. 

He  was  still  staying  in  Freeburg,  finding  it  impossible 


FROM  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  OLD  SINGER.   193 

to  leave  that  little  world.  He  was  taking  a  stroll ;  he 
had  some  instinct  which  guided  to  the  hidden  places 
of  the  town's  life.  Somehow  he  went  to  the  school- 
house,  and  then  was  drawn  by  the  song  toward  the 
Tall  Apple  Tree,  and  still  more  by  the  scene  he  saw 
there.  He  had  started  in  the  mood  of  the  scoffer,  but 
he  had  been  transformed  by  the  benign  presence  of  the 
old  man  into  his  better  nature.  He  toolc  out  his  pipe, 
filled  it  with  tobacco  and  sat  down  under  the  tree  at 
his  ease.  He  was  in  a  retrospective  frame  of  mind, 
and  began :  — 

' '  I  have  been  trying  to  think  where  I  saw  you  last. 
Your  face  has  frequently  risen  on  my  path,  and  even 
your  name  (or  possibly  your  nickname),  I  have  heard 
spoken.  I  believe  it  was  at  the  foot  of  the  Rocky 
Mountains  where  I  met  you  last,  in  a  field.  Nature 
had  left  it  as  a  small  open  space  amid  the  forest  and 
rocks.  I  noticed  that  the  ground  had  been  stirred  a 
little,  and  you  had  piled  some  brush  over  the  spot." 

"  That  is  a  habit  of  mine,  wherever  I  stay."  With 
these  words  the  old  man  stopped,  and  seemed  to  be 
waiting. 

"  I  was  with  a  train  that  was  going  across  the  plains 
to  the  Pacific  coast,"  said  the  pedestrian.  "I  could 
hardly  wait  to  see  that  vast  boundary  of  the  conti- 
nent. I  was  driven  by  a  desire,  which  I  can  scarcely 
now  explain,  but  which  seems  to  have  been  in  our  race 
from  the  earliest  time  —  the  desire  of  moving  west- 
ward, and  of  finding  some  new  limit  to  the  world  in 
that  direction."     The  old  man  replied :  — 

**Yes,  I  know  that  desire,  know  the  people  who 
have  it.     But  it  is  not  mine.     I  can  find  no  satisfaction 

13 


194  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

in  it.  I  would  rather  put  something  needful  into  the 
hands  of  the  man  while  going,  in  order  to  help  him  on 
his  way,  or  possibly,  to  alleviate  his  sufferings  in  some 
blow  of  fate.  To  the  runner  of  the  race  I  prefer  to 
hand  a  cup  of  water  to  running  the  race  or  winning  it 
myself. ' ' 

* '  But  you  have  certainly  wandered  much  ;  our  paths 
had  often  crossed  before  that  last  time.  I  have  met 
you  on  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi ;  on  both  sides  of 
it,  if  I  mistake  not." 

"  It  is  quite  possible.  I  certainly  have  been  much 
up  and  down  the  great  stream,  which,  indeed,  I  love. 
I  think  I  have  seen  you  at  various  times  in  those  parts. 
You  seem  a  wanderer  like  myself." 

The  pedestrian  replied  with  a  contemplative  puff  of 
his  pipe:  ''I  have  strayed  about  a  good  deal  in  this 
world.  Not  only  both  sides  of  the  great  River,  but 
both  sides  of  the  Ocean,  nay,  both  sides  of  the  two 
Oceans,  have  been  my  territory.  I  never  see  a  stream 
of  water  but  I  wish  to  cross  it ;  never  a  range  of  moun- 
tains but  I  wish  to  climb  it ;  above  all,  the  Ocean  has 
for  me  the  supreme  charm  by  rousing  in  me  the  intense 
wish  to  go  beyond  it,  and  prove  that  it  is  no  restraint 
to  my  knowledge." 

Said  the  old  man :  "  The  Ocean  is  to  me  what  it  was 
to  the  ancient  bard,  old  Homer  —  a  barren  waste ;  I 
cannot  plant  in  it." 

"  I  noticed  you  were  planting  far  out  there  on  the 
frontier.  You  must  have  put  the  seed  into  the  soil  on 
that  little  spot  of  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  Rockies. 
It  seemed  a  strange  business." 

''  Wherever  I  go,  I  have  to  plant,"  said  the  old  man, 


FROM  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  OLD  SINGER.   195 

as  he  looked  up  into  the  branches  of  the  tree,  "  and  I 
always  am  going.  I  have  the  unconquerable  desire  to 
commit  the  seed  to  the  ground,  and  to  make  the  earth 
fruitful." 

"  Do  3^ou  think  your  planting  does  any  good?  "  in- 
quired the  pedestrian. 

"This  tree  under  which  we  are  now  lying  is  one  of 
my  seedlings.  I  planted  it  in  this  spot  many  years  ago, 
when  the  country  around  us  was  a  wilderness ;  there 
was  as  little  cultivation  here  at  that  time,  as  you  saw 
on  the  plot  of  ground  near  the  Kocky  I\Iountains. 
You  noticed  me  there  put  an  apple-seed  into  the  earth 
for  the  people  of  the  future ;  yet  they  are  already 
there.  I  prefer  to  work  for  those  who  are  to  be,  rather 
than  for  those  who  now  are ;  strange  as  it  may  seem, 
the  reward  is  better,  purer,  and  far  more  certain.  Still 
the  present  has  its  delight  for  me,  too ;  I  now  enjoy, 
as  I  turn  back  upon  my  path  and  upon  my  life,  the 
shade  of  this  tree  and  its  fruit.  What  is  better,  all 
the  villagers  enjoy  it,  particularly  the  children  enjoy  it, 
and  will  continue  to  do  so  long  after  I  am  gone,  with- 
out thinking  of  the  one  who  planted  the  seed.  This  is 
my  chief  pleasure  —  to  extend  the  hand  of  help,  and 
not  to  be  seen  doing  it." 

"That  is  a  strange  feeling  of  yours,"  replied  the 
pedestrian;  "you  are  different  from  other  mortals, 
who  are  eager  to  have  their  good  deeds  known  and  to 
harvest  the  fame  thereof  in  season.  But  you  are 
right ;  you  resemble  Providence,  who  also  loves  to  hide 
himself  in  strange  shapes  that  he  be  not  recognized 
doing  his  works  of  benevolence." 

The  pedestrian  followed  the  eyes  of  the  old  man  and 


196  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

looked  up  into  the  tree.  He  saw  its  crop  of  goodly 
fruit,  saw  its  gently  extending  arms ;  felt,  indeed,  its 
beneficent  spirit,  which  had  seemingly  been  imparted 
to  it  by  the  planter. 

At  this  point  the  old  man  made  the  remark :  — 

"  I  would  fain  think  and  hope  that  it  .gives  some- 
thing more  than  physical  comfort  to  those  who  may 
come  into  presence,  eating  its  fruit  or  lying  under  its 
shade.  It  should  speak  something  to  all,  in  a  whis- 
per from  its  branches." 

The  pedestrian  caught  up  the  word:  "  It  stands 
here,  an  unknown  act  of  kindness ;  it  teaches  us  to 
commit  the  good  seed  to  the  soil,  and  the  good  deed 
to  the  world." 

Again  gazing  upwards  he  said:  "  This  tree  preaches 
the  works  of  charity. ' ' 

After  some  silent  reflection,  he  went  on:  "  You 
have  done  much  in  your  simple  —  I  may  say  —  humble 
calling.  You  have  refreshed  and  possibly  saved  many 
a  famished  wayfarer  like  myself." 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  with  feeling,  and  cried  out:  — 

"It  is  thou,  good  old  man,  who  hast  done  to  mc 
personally  so  many  unknown  acts  of  kindness,  which 
I  have  never  before  appreciated.  All  along  my  journey 
to  the  West,  even  to  the  East,  I  have  noticed  these 
trees  at  odd  places ;  that  they  were  planted  by  some 
hand  with  care,  I  knew  by  the  choice  of  location,  also 
by  the  kind  of  fruit.  I  have  wondered  often  who  it 
could  have  been.  I  never  expected  to  see  the  hand 
which  reached  out  of  the  darkness  and  fed  me  ;  now  I 
know  —  it  was  thine." 

At  these  words  he  grasped  fervently  the  aged  and 


FROM    THE    LIFE    OF    THE    OLD    SINGER.        197 

wrinkled,  but  still  firm  hand  of  the  old  man.  They  sat 
for  a  time  in  silence  ;  there  was  something  which  sub- 
dued both  in  their  thoughts.  It  was  at  such  a  time 
that  the  singer  had  need  of  a  little  rhyme  to  express 
some  feeling  which  seemed  beyond  expression.  He 
released  his  hand,  after  a  hearty  pressure  in  response ; 
he  reached  and  drew  out  his  fiddle ;  he  preluded  some 
moments  on  the  strings  and  then  gave  in  a  slow,  reci- 
tative tone,  a  verse :  — 

I  would  te]l  you,  friend,  the  cost 

Of  life's  highest  art: 
You  shall  always  have  the  most 

Of  what  you  most  impart. 

The  demonic  genius  of  the  pedestrian  had  been  for 
once  cowed  by  a  milder,  yet  stronger  spirit.  He 
sat  speechless,  evidentl}^  turning  back  upon  his  own 
career,  and  applying  the  test  of  the  simple  verse  to  its 
wayward  course.  At  last,  silence  was  again  broken  by 
the  old  man. 

*'I  tell  3'ou,"  he  said  as  he  put  aside  his  instrument, 
"  I  must  plant  or  die.  It  is  with  me  the  first  necessity 
of  life.  Food  could  not  sustain  me,  unless  I  put  these 
little  germs  into  tlie  soil  that  they  sprout  up  into  fruit- 
bearing  trees.  I  have  done  so  for  many  ^^ears ;  I 
have  a  line  of  these  trees  across  the  continent ;  it  is  the 
zone  which  1  have  drawn  around  it,  and  whic'i,  I  hope, 
helps  keep  it  together  in  a  strong  hoop  of  benevolence. 
I  am  now  traveling  back,  so  to  speak,  in  the  shade  of 
my  own  orchard,  under  the  shelter  of  my  own  deeds.'* 

"  Strange  freak  of  charity,'*  exclaimed  the  pedes- 
trian.    "  I  thought  you  were  crazy  ;  1  laughed  at  you 


198  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

with  the  rest  of  the  world.  But  I  make  the  confes- 
sion ;  3'ou  have  done  far  better  than  I  have  —  I,  who 
am  also  a  wanderer  like  you." 

The  old  man  started  to  speak  again  ;  the  frankness 
of  his  companion  seemed  to  draw  from  him  a  deeper 
secret.  He  spoke  in  a  lower  voice:  "  1  said  that  to 
plant  was  life  to  me.  But  really  it  is  something  more 
than  life.  It  is  not  a  mere  sacrifice  but  a  continuous 
reward." 

Here  he  stopped,  as  if  on  the  threshold  of  some 
thought,  which  he,  in  fear,  kept  to  himself.  The 
pedestrian  did  not  press  him"  to  tell.  But  after  a  short 
silence,  the  old  man  went  on  of  his  own  accord :  — 

'*  Only  through  this  way  of  doing  have  I  been  able 
to  work  off  Fate,  which  had  its  hand  upon  me,  and 
still  threatens  me  at  times  from  the  near  future." 

'  I  thought  Fate   was  inexorable,"  said  the  pedes- 
trian. 

"  No,  it  can  be  controlled,"  affirmed  the  old  man 
with  great  decision.  ''  Its  severest  blow  can  be  warded 
off.  It  has  sought  to  grasp  me:  the  fiend  has  had 
hold  of  me,  he  lurks  around  me  still.  I  can  see  him 
clutch  for  me  just  now,  when  I  think  of  him." 

''Old  man,"  said  the  pedestrian,"  I  see  thee  trying 
to  hold  back  that  which  thou  must  reveal,  which  all 
thy  nature  is  driving  thee  to  tell.  Speak  it  out  and 
get  relief;  thou  canst  no  longer  keep  it  back;  the 
secret,  however  dreadful,  I  shall  guard  in  sacred 
silence." 

"You  are  right,"  he  replied,  "  at  certain  times 
I  must  confess  to  menmj'-  danger,  my  secret,  and  thus 
obtain  a  new  respite.     Fate   smote  me  once,  I  was  in- 


FROM   THE    LIFE    OF   THE    OLD    SINGER.        199 

sane ;  the  marks  of  the  stroke  are  on  me  still,  and 
will  remain  during  life.  I  have  to  be  going,  alwaj'S 
going ;  the  price  of  my  sanity  is  to-day  this  activity. 
I  am  in  a  perpetual  fight  with  the  dragon,  and  I  dare 
not  cease  resistance.  But  my  activity  must  be  of  a 
certain  kind  —  not  for  m3'self ,  but  for  others.  I  have 
to  move  on  a  line  with  Providence,  else  my  reason 
falls  out  of  its  orbit.  I  cannot  attend  to  business,  I 
dare  not  make  money ;  I  must  work  for  others,  in 
order  to  save  mjself.  The  reward  is  the  greatest 
possible  •—  nothing  less  than  rationality.  In  my  self- 
ishness, I  must  embrace  the  whole  world,  before  I  can 
reach  myself." 

"  Still  people  think  you  are  not  altogether  of  sound 
mind,  roaming  about  the  country  and  planting  apple 
seeds,"  said  the  pedestrian. 

'*  I  do  not  blame  them,  that  is  the  way  of  the  world. 
They  call  me  Johnny  Apple-seed ;  you  have  addressed 
me  thus ;  the  nickname  is  my  highest  honor.  I  would 
wear  it  as  my  badge  of  glory,  if  I  dared.  But  I  must 
not  have  these  deeds  of  mine  publicly  proclaimed ;  I 
beg  you  not  to  speak  of  them.  Their  best  lesson  is, 
that  they  be  unknown  to  the  recipient  of  the  blessing; 
let  them  come  to  him,  like  the  workings  of  Provi- 
dence, from  beyond.  Men  should  feel  that  they  are 
held  by  the  inscrutable ;  knowledge  is  not  all,  the  un- 
known is  the  other  very  necessary  half  of  life.  Ignor- 
ance is  bad,  but  to  feel,  yea,  to  know  the  unknown  as 
a  factor  of  existence  is  good.  Besides,  I  do  not  claim 
to  be  so  unselfish  in  the  matter ;  I  have  my  reward,  my 
great  reward  —  I  have  my  supreme  relief.  Let  me 
seem    crazy ;  in  seeming  so,  I  get  rid  of  craziness ; 


200  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

but  people  cannot  understand  that  the  outer  ap- 
pearance is  not  only  not  the  disease,  but  may  be  the 
very  medicine  of  the  disease." 

The  pedestrain  felt  strongly  the  force  of  these 
words,  they  threw  him  into  meditations  on  his  own 
life.  The  same  charge  of  craziness  had  been  often 
made  against  him  by  men  who  could  not  understand 
him,  and  who  took  this  method  of  showing  their  own 
sanity.  He  was  regarded  as  a  strange  being,  whose 
oddity  seemed  at  times  to  threaten  to  pass  over  into 
downright  madness.  Now  he  saw  that  he  had  applied 
this  epithet  to  a  man  who  had  not  only  not  deserved  it, 
but  deserved  just  the  opposite.  He  was  rarely  in  the 
mood  of  confession,  but  at  present  his  self-esteem  had 
been  humbled  to  the  point  of  acknowledgment.  He 
exclaimed:  -  - 

''  I  have  seen  the  sun  rise  and  set  on  unsown  places 
all  my  life,  I  have  wandered  over  many  fertile  portions 
of  the  globe ;  I  have  not  left  a  plant,  I  have  not  put 
into  the  earth  a  single  seed,  unless  it  fell  by  chance 
upon  the  soil  out  of  the  fruit  which  I  was  then  con- 
suming, and  which  was  the  gift  of  others.  I  never 
thought  of  the  wayfarer  who  was  to  come  after  me ; 
I  took  the  food  which  others  had  placed  before  me, 
never  seeing  the  hand  that  reached  out  to  my  neces- 
sities, or  thinking  to  reach  out  my  hand  to  others' 
necessities.  I  have  never  sought  to  restore  to  men 
what  men  have  given  to  me:  I  am  the  world's  spend- 
thrift debtor." 

The  pedestrian  stopped  a  moment^  cast  his  look  up 
into  the  Tall  Apple  Tree,  and  then  continued:  "In 
my  life  I  have  only  endeavored  to  see  and  to  know ; 


FROM    THE    LIFE    OF    THE    OLD    SINGER.        201 

my  sole  aspiration  has  been  to  remove  my  ignorance ; 
action  has  been  no  part  of  my  being — godlike  action. 
I  have  not  shared  what  I  received,  and  gained  the 
world  by  giving  it  away.  O  could  I  again  have  my 
years !  I  confess  to  you,  my  friend,  I  am  the  fool,  if 
not  the  insane  man." 


V. 

The  old  singer  in  the  meantime  turned  toward  the 
setting  sun  with  a  cheerful  smile,  which  seemed  to  echo 
the  beams  that  were  falling  upon  his  face.  He  looked 
at  the  luminary  with  so  much  sympathy,  nay,  kinship, 
that  the  pedestrian  was  led  to  ask:  "I  notice  you 
peering  often  into  the  sun,  it  seems  to  furnish  you 
your  inner  light  as  well  as  your  outer." 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  it  is  for  me  not  only  the  source 
of  physical  but  of  mental  vision  ;  I  see  by  it  not  only 
this  external  world  of  nature,  but  the  secrets  of  the 
spiritual  kingdom.  It  shines  upon  the  realm  of  wis- 
dom, and  makes  it  not  merely  luminous,  but  self- 
luminous." 

The  pedestrian  also  looked  into  the  sinking  lumin- 
ary ;  he  felt  his  eye  recoil  powerless,  and  spoke : 
"  Light  is  for  me  the  grand  riddle  of  this  world,  not 
darkness,  which  is  merely  the  absence  of  light ;  da}'^ 
has  the  true  mystery  which  I  would  solve,  not  night. 
Sincerity  is  the  hardest  mask  to  penetrate,  not  hy- 
pocrisy, which  always  tells  its  own  secret.  I  should 
say  the  present  existence  is  the  unintelligible  thing, 
not  futurity.  The  Now  is  the  oracle  of  whicJh  the  Fu- 
ture is  but  an  explanation,  if  it  is  to  be  explained." 


202  THE   FREEBURGER8. 

The  old  singer  did  not  reply  directly,  but  continued 
in  his  own  vein,  with  face  still  turned  toward  the  ra- 
diant body,  and  illuminated  from  it:  "  The  sun  is  the 
ever-present  Vision  of  Truth  — the  first  source  of  all 
utterance,  and,  1  think,  of  all  religion.  It  is  the 
foundation  of  poetry,  the  basis  of  language,  the 
ground  of  the  seeing  ar^^  the  seen ;  man  stands  in 
deepest  relation  to  it,  has  a  dependence  upon  it,  which 
shoots  its  image  through  the  universe.  To  me  the 
face  of  yonder  sun  illuminates  the  countenance  of 
Deity." 

He  reached  for  his  instrument,  as  the  thought  seemed 
to  expand  out  of  his  reach  ;  he  touched  the  chords  for 
his  own  attunement,  and  then  chanted  these  lines :  ~ 

The  eye  was  begotten  a  Sun-seer, 
Else  it  could  never  see  the  light; 

The  soul  was  begotten  a  God-seer, 
Else  it  could  never  see  the  right. 

A  faint  rustle  in  the  bushes  behind  them  caused  both 
to  look  around.  A  sweet  little  face  peeped  out  of  the 
flowers  and  leaves,  with  a  streaming  head  of  hair  that 
turned  to  golden  strands,  in  the  last  rays  of  the  sun. 
That  wreathed  countenance  seemed  to  be  a  part  of  the 
bushy  plot.  Nature  was  there  shooting  up  into  a 
flower-face,  which  became  a  person.  It  was  little 
Trolla,  who  showed  by  her  longing  glances  that  she 
wished  to  come  out  of  her  leafy  concealment  into  full 
sunlight,  and  join  the  old  singer,  under  whose  strains 
she  had  already  unfolded  out  of  her  floral  existence. 

But  when  she  saw  the  face  of  the  pedestrian,  with 
its  long  nose  hung  out  in  derision  of  the  world,  and 


FROM    THE    LIFE   OF    THE    OLD    SINGER.       203 

with  its  scoffing  lines,  though  now  much  subdued  in 
the  presence  of  the  old  singer,  turned  towards  her, 
she  could  go  no  further ;  and  when  his  two  small,  un- 
easy eyes  with  a  sudden  demonic  sparkle  fell  upon  her, 
she  ducked  back  into  the  copse,  and  was  lost  to  sight. 
Both  men  saw  her  vanish,  but  said  nothing.  The  old 
singer  would  have  gladly  had  her  come  nearer,  but 
when  she  hid,  he  recognized  the  cause,  and  looked 
away  in  another  direction. 

The  attention  of  both  men,  when  they  had  turned 
around  and  no  longer  beheld  Trolla,  seemed  to  light 
upon  the  same  object  in  the  landscape.  The  pedes- 
trian spoke :  — 

"  Do  you  know  what  building  that  is?  " 

'fj§/lf  the  village  school-house,"  replied  the  old 
man,  who  had  already  inquired  about  it  with  much  in- 
terest on  his  first  arrival  in  Freeburg. 

"I  have  been  observing  it  from  the  beginning,"  the 
pedestrian  began  to  say,  "  and  I  somehow  feel  it  has 
an  affinity  to  this  spot  where  wo  are  now  sitting.  .How 
mightily  it  forces  itself  into  the  landscape  !  How  neces- 
sary its  presence  just  here !  Behold  it  now,  its  windows 
and  walls,  even  to  the  top  of  its  belfry  I  it  is  one  blaze 
of  Ught !  it  is  transfigured  in  the  setting  sun ! " 

"  It  too  is  a  plant,"  said  the  old  man,  "and  a  very 
important  one,  from  what  I  see  and  hear.  It  may  be 
called  the  second  tree  after  the  first,  under  which  we 
now  are  —  the  spiritual  brother  of  my  plant.  Such, 
at  least,  is  my  feeUng  about  it,  and,  I  judge,  you 
have  a  similar  impression.  I  take  dehght  in  connect- 
ing these  two  objects ;  there  is  in  them  a  certain  in- 
timacy which,  I  believe,  lies  not  in  my  fancy  alone. 


204  THE    FUEEBURGERS. 

but  in  their  situation  and  appearance.  The  food  of 
the  body  should  be  the  first  care,  then  the  food  of  the 
mind ;  both  sorts  of  nourishment  are  here  represented. 
I  am  glad,  too,  that  the  school- house  overlooks  this 
plant,  and,  indeed,  the  whole  town.  But  the  two  have 
something  in  common,  I  feel  their  secret  kinship  by 
some  tie  which  I  cannot  explain." 

At  this  moment  the  white  lady  moved  slowly  past  a 
window  of  the  school-house  ;  she  turned  her  head  and 
cast  a  look  out  toward  the  tree,  then  disappeared. 
Both  men  saw  her,  and  gazed  in  silence,  yet  in  won- 
der ;  they  were  not  startled,  because  it  seemed  in  order 
that  some  such  object  should  pass  before  them — just 
then  and  there ;  unconsciously  they  expected  it,  the 
event  simply  ran  in  its  pre-established  patli,  which 
was  also  marked  out  in  their  souls.  The  fact  flashed 
into  the  consciousness  of  both  at  the  same  moment. 

The  old  man  said :  "  Do  you  know  that  I  anticipated 
that  appearance?  '* 

The  pedestrian  replied  :  ' '  And  I  too,  along  with  you . 
Our  spirits  are  flowing  together  and  are  receiving  a 
common  impress  from  the  future." 

The  old  man  added:  "That  experience  occurs  to 
me  often  ;  I  have  a  feeling  beforehand  that  something 
is  coming,  and  it  comes  in  the  appointed  way.  I 
recollect  afterward  that  I  expected  it,  but  it  does  not 
rise  into  my  conscious  thought  before  it  arrives." 

In  this  premonitory  state,  the  old  singer  had  passed 
from  his  prosaic  into  his  poetic  mood  ;  he  reached  for 
his  instrument,  and  struck  the  strings,  in  preparation 
for  a  song.  But  before  he  began,  he  threw  in  a  re- 
mark:  *'This  is  the  mood  which  song  utj^ers  best  for 


FROM  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  OLD  SINGER.   205 

me  ;  it  is  the  miraculous  side  of  our  nature,  which  has 
in  it  the  unattainable  and  unfathomable ;  it  is  the 
Kingdom  of  the  Unknown,  which  is  in  us  and  around 
us  everywhere,  and  which  speech  can  only  hint  from 
afar,  but  not  express  or  explain.  * ' 

This  statement  gave  to  the  pedestrian  the  opportun- 
ity which  he  had  long  sought.  At  once  he  asked  in 
great  eagerness:  **Tell  me,  if  you  dare  reveal  the 
secret,  why  do  you  sing  —  under  what  compulsion  are 
3^ou  to  be  a  wandering  minstrel  ?  " 

The  old  man  laid  aside  his  instrument  and  began  to 
speak  in  a  reflective  manner:  "  It  is  a  necessity  with 
me,  it  is  a  part  of  m}' conquest  of  Fate.  I  plant  and 
sing;  I  must  do  both,  they  belong  together,  are  the 
complementary  parts  of  my  being,  and  neither  could 
exist  in  me  without  the  other.  I  plant,  and  thereby  in 
action  I  master  my  destiny ;  I  sing,  and  thereby  in 
feeling  I  master  my  destiny.  The  deed  alone  would 
leave  my  inner  life  either  empty  or  discordant ;  but 
this  inner  life,  without  the  deed,  would  leave  me  ex- 
posed to  the  assaults  of  the  external  world,  and  thus 
my  outer  life  would  be  either  empty  or  discordant.  I 
must  not  only  plant,  but  I  must  also  sing,  though  no- 
body listen.  O  friend,  two  worlds  assail  me,  the 
world  within  and  the  world  without ;  both  are  a  fate  to 
me,  unless  I  plant  and  sing." 

The  old  man  after  tuning  his  instrument  carefully, 
played  in  the  strings  with  his  fingers  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, then  he  ceased,  and  resumed  his  talk :  — 

"  Mere  acti^^ty  may  be  fate,  mere  emotion  may  be 
fate.     Each  must  be  transcended,  in  fact,  each  must 


206  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

transcend  the  other.     There  is  a  height  of  life  where 
both  become  one." 

He  swept  the  strings  of  his  vioHn  with  his  entire 
hand,  trying  them  and  teasing  them,  as  if  he  were  test- 
ing his  own  mood  for  an  appropriate  song.  Soon  he 
seemed  to  find  what  he  sought,  and  then  he  chanted 
the  following  versicle  :  — - 

Be  not  held  by  what  thou  art, 

But  by  what  thou  art  to  be, 
Break  the  limit  of  thy  deed, 

And  reach  over  destiny. 

The  notes  ceased,  the  pedestrian  remained  silent  in 
his  thought.  Intellectually  he  understood  these  ex- 
periences, it  was  his  special  gift  to  reach  things  most 
alien  to  him,  through  his  head,  never  through  his  heart. 
But  now  he  began  to  show  a  change,  he  had  fallen  into 
a  mood  which  could  be  played  upon  ;  his  feelings  had 
become  chords,  which  the  old  fiddler  attuned  delicatel3% 
as  if  they  were  the  strings  of  his  own  instrument  an- 
swering his  tenderest  touch. 

*'  Old  man,"  cried  the  pedestrian  at  this  point,  with 
his  whole  inner  being  in  vibration,  "you  have  ex- 
pressed more  of  the  inexpressible  to  me  than  I  have 
ever  before  heard  from  human  lips.  There  is  some- 
thing in  your  words  which  comes  from  beyond  words, 
something  in  your  thought  which  drives  the  spirit  be- 
yond thinking.  Yours  is  the  function  of  the  poet,  who 
is  to  conquer  new  domains  from  the  unutterable  and 
make  it  the  uttered  ever  afterwards.  What  he  speaks 
could  not  have  been  spoken  till  he  has  said  it ;  what  he 


FKOM  THE  LIFE  OF  THE  OLD  SINGER.   207 

does,  before  him  had  no  existence,  nay,  was  an  im- 
possibility." 

There  was  a  short  mutual  silence,  after  which  the 
old  man  went  on  :  "I  dare  not  sink  away  into  feeling, 
else  I  were  lost ;  I  dare  not  plunge  myself  into  activity, 
else  I  were  lost.  I  have  to  put  into  harmony  my  heart 
and  my  deed ;  they  must  not  jar  in  me,  but  make  one 
music.  Both  I  throw  into  an  outer  rhythm  and  meas- 
ure, which  is  life  to  me,  though  it  may  be  death  to  the 
hearer." 

After  this  little  flash  of  humorous  self-depreciation, 
in  wliicb  the  old  man  showed  a  momentary  relief  from 
the  burden  of  his  thoughts,  he  again  grew  serious  and 
continued:  "You  are  right;  all  utterance  which 
reaches  the  height  of  excellence,  has  in  it  the  unutter- 
able, by  way  of  suggestion  at  least.  The  same  is  true 
of  every  lofty  human  soul ;  to  be  truly  itself,  it  must 
be  more  than  itself.  There  is  in  us  something  which 
joins  us  to  the  Beyond  ;  we  can  hear  supernal  tones  in 
unconscious  moments  ;  we  can  hear  them  always  in  our 
own  genuine  song,  though  nobody  else  can.  I  hold 
that  the  spirit  world  can  whisper  to  us  unspeakable 
words  in  the  sounding  of  sweet  strains.  Music  at  its 
best  is  the  melodious  incarnation  of  the  Beyond,  and 
song  is  a  re-embodiment  of  the  voices  of  heaven.'' 

While  he  was  pronouncing  this  last  sentence,  an  un- 
speakable longing  seemed  to  come  over  the  old  man  ; 
he  was  ready  to  show  in  himself  an  example  of  his 
own  doctrine.  He  rose  in  a  restless  movement,  and 
peered  into  the  darkening  air  of  evening.  The  white 
l^dy,  dim  and  shadowy  in  the  distance,  opened  the 
door   of    the    school-house,    and    prepared   to    come 


208  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

forth.  He  grasped  the  pedestrian  by  the  hand  and 
said :  — 

*' Friend,  let  me  say  good-bye  for  to-night.  There 
are  times  in  which  I  feel  I  must  be  left  alone.  I 
hope  we  shall  soon  meet  again.  This  afternoon  has, 
indeed,  brought  us  closer  together." 

The  pedestrian,  who  felt  the  same  desire  of  being 
left  to  himself,  had  already  made  a  motion  to  start. 
The  two  separated  in  a  glow  of  fraternal  feeling  very 
different  from  the  state  of  mind  in  which  they  had  met 
that  day.  Dusk  was  settling  over  all ;  the  soul,  in  its 
mood  of  sympathy,  took  the  tint  and  tone  of  Nature. 
In  the  gloaming,  the  white  figure  came  out  upon  the 
veranda,  and  stood  a  moment  against  a  pillar  in  its 
former  attitude.  The  old  man  who  had  stayed  under 
the  Tall  Apple  Tree,  rose  and  approached  the  school- 
house  ;  that  white  form  seemed  a  spirit  flitting  through 
the  twilight ;  he  hastened  his  pace  to  overtake  it,  but 
it  was  out  of  sight;  when  he  reached  the  building.  He 
strained  his  vision  to  behold  the  vanished  shape ;  his 
feelings  overcame  him,  he  sat  down  upon  the  steps  of 
the  school-house,  and  eased  his  heart  by  a  song, 
which  seemed  to  blend  his  present  experience  into 
some  shadowy  remembrance  of  a  former  sorrow. 

I  stretch  my  hands  to  hold  her, 

Though  shadow  too  I  seem ; 
In  arms  I  will  infold  her, 

A  dream  within  a  dream. 

In  arms  I  will  infold  her, 

She  comes  a  ghostly  gleam; 
My  soul,  embrace  her  bolder,  „ 

A  dream  within  a  dream. 


FROM    THK    LIFE    OF    THE    OLD    SIXGEK.       209 

My  soul  embrace  her  bolder, 

Thy  lost  one  now  redeem, 
Ere  we  to  love  grow  colder, 

A  dream  within  a  dream. 

Ere  we  to  love  grow  colder, 

Who  now  two  shadows  seem, 
I  in  my  arms  infold  her, 

A  dream  within  a  dream. 

I  in  my  arms  infold  her, 

Whom  my  own  soul  I  deem; 
Oh,  Death!  I  could  not  hold  her, 

A  dream  within  a  dream. 

Oh,  Death  !  I  could  not  hold  her. 

Beyond  she  sped  a  gleam ; 
But  still  my  love  I  told  her, 

A  dream  within  a  dream 

U 


CHAPTER   SIXTH. 


LEAVES  OF  HOPE  WIN  SLOWS  HISTOBY. 
I. 

The  lady  in  white  who  had  appeared  to  the  old 
siDger  in  the  distance,  was,  we  need  hardly  say,  the 
school-mistress,  Miss  Hope  Winslow.  Under  the  pres- 
sure of  some  task,  she  had  been  kept  late  at  work, 
till  she  glided  home  through  the  dark  from  the  school- 
house.  She  was  very  much  occupied  at  this  time, 
both  with  herself  and  with  her  affairs ;  she  was  under- 
going a  great  internal  change,  and  was  meditating  a 
great  external  change,  both  of  which  were  counterparts 
of  one  experience. 

The  cast  of  the  stone  remained  as  much  of  a  mys- 
tery as  ever.  The  next  morning  after  that  fateful 
event,  the  Sun  shone  bright,  and  he  had  already 
found  many  a  little  opening,  through  which  he  could 
fling  a  handful  of  rays  into  the  bed  room  of  Miss  Win- 
slow  as  she  lay  asleep,  though  the  windows,  which 
were  made  for  the  entrance  of  light,  were  carefully 
guarded  by  curtain  and  shutter.  At  last  she  woke, 
full  of  dissatisfaction  with  herself,  and  asking  certain 
questions:  Who  could  have  cast  that  stone?  What 
does  it   all  mean?     She  turned  the  matter  over  in  her 

(210) 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW*S    HISTORY.        211 

mind  many  times  ;  the  cause  and  motives  of  the  act 
she  could  not  divine,  though  she  had  repeatedly  a 
fleeting  suspicion  ;  this  suspicion,  however,  would  not 
settle  itself  into  positive  conviction. 

But  there  was  one  feeling  wjiich  seemed  to  remain 
and  wind  through  all  her  fluctuations :  the  occurrence 
was  a  warning.  It  took  place  just  at  a  given  moment, 
under  given  circumstances ;  in  it  she  read  a  hand- 
writing very  significant,  possibly  prophetic.  She  felt 
a  sudden  shudder ;  slie  turned  over  and  looked  at  a 
small  patch  of  sunshine  which  fell  upon  a  red  figure  in 
the  carpet ;  it  seemed  to  raise  a  finger  of  blood. 

She  quickly  put  down  this  little  outbreak  of  super- 
stition ;  she  was  a  woman  of  reason  and  will,  and  yet 
she  was  a  woman.  Certain  dark  undercurrents  would 
start  to  flowing  once  in  a  while,  especially  in  reference 
to  matters  of  heart.  But  now  came  a  mighty  wave  of 
self-reproach ;  she  had  allowed  her  emotions  to  run 
away  with  her  judgment,  behold  the  sudden  penalty. 
Yes,  after  all  she  was  but  a  woman,  and  woman*s 
friendship  for  youths  has  an  unaccountable  tendency 
to  turn  over  into  something  warmer  than  ice-cold  dis- 
cretion. Really,  she  had  never  known  herself  before. 
She  had,  moreover,  committed  an  impropriety ;  it  was 
horrible,  soul-crushing.  Her  conscience  asked  her 
the  first  question :  What  must  I  now  think  of  myself? 
Something  else  crept  in  slyly,  and  asked  her  the 
second  question  :  What  must  Henry  think  of  me  now? 

Then  some  old  buried  memories  rose  up  from  the 
past  hke  ghosts,  and  intruded  themselves  into  the 
throng  of  recent  events.  Her  mind  was  a  wild  battle 
of  love  and  disgust,  of  premonitions  and  reminiscences  ; 


212  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

she  was  the  victor  and  the  vanquished,  the  slaj'erand 
the  slain,  that  morning ;  but  in  victory  or  defeat,  in  life 
or  death,  she  was  still  Hope  Winslow,  and  knew  not 
whither  to  flee  from  that  very  persistent  personality. 

Soon  after  she  had  risen,  and  before  she  had  quite 
finished  her  moderate  toilet,  she  heard  the  door  bell 
ring  below,  and  a  man  mention  her  name.  The  land- 
lady came  to  her  room,  and  told  her  that  there  was  in 
the  parlor  an  oflScer  of  the  law  who  wished  to  see  her 
as  soon  as  possible.  She  felt  a  little  wonder  and  a 
little  fright  at  such  an  announcement,  but  she  was 
soon  ready,  and  bravely  marched  into  the  uncertain 
presence.  The  man  turned  out  to  be  the  village  con- 
stable, who  saluted  Miss  Winslow,  and  told  at  once  his 
errand. 

"  The  town,"  says  he,  "  has  heard  of  the  outrage 
committed  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Herman  Firestone,  and 
the  offender  is  still  unknown.  I  am  come  to  ask  your 
aid  in  bringing  him  to  justice,  since  you  possibly  may 
have  seen  him,  or.may  have  some  clew  to  his  discovery. 
Before  we  can  punish  him,  we  must  catch  him,  you 
know,  and  in  furtherance  of  this  object,  I  have  made 
such  an  early  call  this  morning." 

Miss  Winslow  now  learned,  with  some  surprise,  that 
all  the  village  knew  the  whole  occurrence,  and  much 
more  than  the  whole  of  it.  No  sooner  is  the  event 
born  in  such  a  place,  especially' the  event  streaked  with 
possible  scandal,  than  the  insect  takes  wings,  and  flies 
into  every  house,  nay,  into  every  head,  where  it  begins 
to  buzz,  to  the  exclusion  of  every  other  sound,  till  the 
community  itself  becomes  one  vast  swarm  of  surmise, 
suspicion,  and  downright  lying. 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOw's    HISTORY.       213 

"  Is  anybody  suspected?  "  Miss  Winslow  asked  the 
question  with  great  interest,  but  with  affected  coolness. 

The  constable  replied:  "There  are  many  shakings 
of  the  head,  but,  as  yet,  no  proof.  I  cannot  find  a 
single  trace  of  the  perpetrator ;  once  or  twice  I  thought 
I  had  glimpses  of  him,  but  he  ran  straightway  into 
darkness,  and  refused  to  show  himself  in  daylight." 

Just  then  the  door  bell  rang  again  ;  after  a  moment's 
lapse  Cud  jo  Bell  appeared,  with  a  note  in  his  hand, 
at  the  entrance  to  the  parlor.  He  said,  with  a  some- 
what embarrassed  grin :  "I  have  been  told  to  deliver 
in  person  this  writing  into  your  hand.  That  is  the 
reason  why  I  come  in  myself.'* 

"  Be  seated  for  a  minute,"  said  Miss  Winslow. 
Cudjo  sat  down  near  the  door,  and  looked  shyly  at  the 
constable,  who,  at  a  nod  from  Miss  Winslow,  continued 
his  story. 

"  There  is  an  old  fiddler  whom  a  few  persons  take 
to  be  the  guilty  man.  I  have  noticed  him  in  the 
neighborhood  for  some  days  ;  I  have  questioned  him 
several  times ;  but  I  hold  him  to  be  innocent,  though 
unbalanced  in  mind." 

Miss  Winslow  could  not  help  smiling  as  she  thought 
to  herself:  This  must  be  Henry's  ancient  singer. 
But  she  suppressed  her  smile  at  once,  and  said :  — 

"  Of  him  I  think  I  have  heard." 

The  constable  went  on :  "  There  is  also  a  wandering 
sort  of  a  fellow  in  town,  whose  name  nobody  can  find 
out,  and  whom  nobody  can  quite  understand.  He  has 
excited  attention  in  various  ways,  and  is  certainly  an 
oddity  in  his  face  and  in  his  talk.  Some  think  he  is 
not  here  for  any  good  purpose ;  but,  as  far  as  I  can 


214  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

discover,  he  has  no  purpose  at  all,  good  or  bad,  in 
staying  any- where  upon  the  globe.'* 

Cudjo  listened  to  this  statement  and  he  said  to  him- 
self:  This  is  my  prophet,  whom  I  heard  on  the  Public 
Square  the  other  day.  But  it  was  hard  for  Cudjo  to 
keep  his  tongue  quiet  when  there  was  an  impulse  in 
his  heart,  so  he  spoke  out :  "  I  do  not  believe  he  is  the 
man  you  want." 

"Nor  I,"  said  the  constable,  throwing  a  glance  upon 
Cudjo,  not  very  searching,  but  enough  to  make  the 
negro  duck  a  little.     The  official  then  continued  :  — 

"  There  is  a  third  conjecture,  which  seems  to  me  the 
most  plausible.  The  deed  is  the  child  of  political  hate, 
engendered  in  the  last  election.  Some  bitter  partisan 
of  the  old  Judge  must  have  hurled  the  missile,  as  Mr. 
Firestone  was  one  of  the  most  active  workers  in  oppo- 
sition to  the  latter's  re-election." 

Cudjo  jumped  up  and  laughed  with  a  sort  of  inward 
explosion  ;  either  his  teeth  were  whiter  and  larger  than 
ever  before,  or  he  showed  them  off  to  greater  advan- 
tage. Then,  in  a  subdued  titter  of  self-satisfied  cun- 
ning, he  said :  — 

**I  must  leave  you;  I  am  not  the  -man  you  are 
hunting ;  you  know  I  was  on  the  side  of  the  new  judge 
in  the  last  election,  and  worked  against  my  em- 
ployer." 

The  negro  delivered  the  note,  which  he  had  kept  in 
his  hand  up  to  this  time,  and  at  once  left  the  room, 
without  looking  back.  Miss  Winslow  broke  the  seal 
and  read  the  following  message :  — 

"I  learn  that  you  were  a  witness,  and  possibly  a 
victim,  of  the  recent  outrage  committed  at  the  house 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW  S    HISTORY. 


215 


of  Mr.  Herman  Firestone.  Some  people  are  trying  to 
fasten  the  guilt  of  that  act  upon  my  followers,  and 
even  upon  me.  I  hereby  offer  you  my  legal  services 
free,  for  the  prosecution  of  the  offenders. 

''  Your  obedient  servant, 

"Ja3ies  Allwortht.** 

In  this  press  of  unusual  events,  Miss  Winslow  did 
not  lose  her  balance.  She  at  once  told  the  constable 
that  she  would  have  to  think  over  all  these  unexpected 
matters,  before  she  started  to  act.  At  this  hint,  the 
officer  left  and  went  in  search  of  some  innocent  partisan 
in  the  last  political  contest,  upon  whom  he  might  turn 
the  present  overwhelming  current  of  popular  suspicion. 

Miss  Winslow  passed  to  her  room  and  sat  down  to 
deliberate.  Her  first  impulse  was  to  aid  in  catching 
the  villain  who  had  changed  her  sweetest  moment  to 
an  eternity  of  gall.  She  rose  and  paced  the  room  in 
an  outburst  of  vengeance ;  moreover,  she  too  had  her 
secret  suspicion,  different  from  any  that  she  had  heard. 
But  suddenly  a  thought  struck  her,  struck  her  hard, 
and  again  she  sat  down.  What  if  she  found  the  of- 
fender, and  brought  him  before  the  court  of  law! 
What  could  he  not  describe,  as  he  looked  through  the 
window  shutter  or  some  cranny !  Then  she  would  have 
to  go  on  the  witness-stand  herself,  and  tell  the  whole 
truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth,  under  oath !  Henry 
also  would  be  forced  to  add  his  unwilling  testimony. 
Three  versions  of  the  same  scene  would  be  served  up 
in  open  court  to  the  public  of  Freeburg ;  it  would  be 
the  rarest  present  to  her  enemies,  and  a  grand  free 
banquet  to  scandal-mongers  in  general,  no  inconsider- 
able portion  of  every  community. 


216  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  now  she  did  not  wish  to  have 
the  villain  hunted  down"  and  prosecuted ;  on  the  con- 
trary, she  wished  him  absolute  success  in  secrecy ;  she 
would  even  aid  him,  if  she  could,  in  hiding  himself. 
She  called  the  matter  before  her  conscience  and  asked : 
What  good  is  to  be  found  in  such  an  exposure  ?  Evi- 
dently none  at  all;  it  would  only  produce  evil.  It 
would  foster  gossip  and  breed  ill-will  every-where ;  it 
would  even  throw  a  cloud  upon  the  work  of  education, 
with  which  she  was  connected,  and  possibly  upon  the 
great  national  cause  of  freedom.  Again  Miss  Win- 
slow  found  the  universal  good  exactly  identical  with 
her  particular  interest. 

She,  therefore,  in  her  quiet,  disguised  way,  dis- 
countenanced all  efforts  to  bring  the  offender  to  jus- 
tice. She  declined  Judge  Allworthy's  offer,  and  had, 
indirectly,  the  constable  called  back  from  pursuit.  So 
skillfully  was  her  work  done,  that,  in  a  time  of  uni- 
versal suspicion,  nobody  suspected  her  of  doing  what 
she  really  did.  After  a  few  days  the  excitement 
ceased,  and  Freeburg  dropped  back  into  a  windless, 
if  not  altogether  wordless,  calm.  Now  and  then  some 
suspicious  soul  would  shake  the  head  and  say,  voicing 
a  proverb  of  the  race,  that  some  woman  would  yet  be 
found  at  the  bottom  of  the  fracas. 


II. 

When  the  excitement  of  the  community  had  sub- 
sided, and  the  outer  buzzing  had  almost  ceased,  an 
inner  turmoil  and  perturbation  of  mind  began  again 
to   rise    in   Miss   Winslow.     The  warning   had   been 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WIXSLOW's    HISTORY.      2l7 

given,  she  had  resolved  to  follow  it,  and  slowly  sever 
her  connection  with  the  Firestones.  Then  she  began 
to  repent  of  her  resolution,  and  this  repentance  was  of 
the  kind  that  always  runs  along  with  the  dearest  wish 
of  the  heart,  and  is,  accordingly,  followed  by  prompt 
action.  After  all,  the  stone  may  have  been  hurled  by 
some  careless  urchin  at  something  in  the  dark ;  it  was 
a  mere  accident  anyhow,  and  by  chance  it  dropped  in 
at  the  window.  In  a  few  days  she  had  argued  that 
cast  of  the  stone  out  of  existence,  not,  however, 
without  some  shrewd  counterstrokes  of  reasoning  from 
the  other  side. 

It  has  already  been  stated,  that  Henry  had  long  been 
the  favorite  pupil  of  Miss  Winslow.  She  gave  him 
additional  instruction,  which  was  both  in  good  faith 
and  a  pretext.  He  took  delight  in  staying  after  school, 
and  reciting  some  special  study  not  in  the  course. 
He  sought  often  to  be  near  her ;  he  felt  a  little  pang 
of  jealousy  if  any  other  boy  was  taken  to  do  her 
errand.  He  well  knew  that  she  was  several  years  his 
senior — a  difference  sufficient  to  cause  a  seeming 
maladjustment;  but  youths  have  a  faculty  of  falling 
in  love  with  women  older  than  themselves,  and  then 
falling  out  again,  the  intensity  of  the  passion  being 
often  in  proportion  to  the  distance  of  the  ages  apart, 
Henry,  however,  was  well  aware  that  he  was  going 
toward  his  future,  while  Miss  Winslow  was  in  the  full 
present,  and  slipping  slowly,  but  perceptibly,  into  the 
past.  Already  she  bad  made  history,  or  a  small 
fragment  thereof,  in  Freeburg.  Under  her  eye  he 
had  grown  to  be  a  3'oung  man,  or  perchance  he  was 


218  THE    FRERBURGERS. 

somewhere  in  the  last  quarter  of  the  lunar  period 
called  youth. 

Miss  Winslow  could  not  with  justice  be  considered 
old  and  ugly,  and  she  was  not  young  and  beautiful, 
though  she  had  a  surprising  gift  of  becoming  so  in  the 
inspiration  of  a  lesson.  She  had  flesh  and  blood,  yet 
she  was  still  more  an  idea,  and  a  very  vigorous  one  at 
that.  With  what  trait  of  her  character  was  Henry 
charmed  ?  It  would  seem  that  he  cared  more  to  hear 
her  than  to  see  her.  A  very  uncommon  thing  may  be 
said  of  her :  silence  was  her  fatality.  Her  words  had 
no  age.  Still  there  was  something  which  he  did  not 
like  in  her  speech — her  satire.  She  did  not  spare 
him,  the  sharp  weapon  had  to  cut  even  what  it  loved ; 
the  fine  jet  of  gall  was  always ,  secreted  under  her 
tongue.  One  little  dash  would  cool  the  boy  down,  and 
often  he  was  glad  to  escape,  though  he  always  wished 
to  return.  But,  in  his  case,  ambition  to  know  over- 
towered  every  emotion. 

But  how  was  it  with  Miss  Winslow?  Her  love  had 
been  a  growth,  an  evolution,  somewhat  slow,  but 
maintaining  every  inch  of  ground  once  gained.  When 
she  saw  the  boy's  thirst  for  knowledge  and  his  ability 
to  acquire,  she  had  great  regard  for  the  pupil ;  but 
when  she  looked  into  the  wide-devouring  eye  of  fire, 
and  saw  the  blaze  reflected  in  the  cheek,  and  extend- 
ing flashes  of  crimson  to  the  white  of  the  neck,  she 
beheld  the  young  man,  and  not  the  pupil.  Still  she 
appeared  to  herself  to  discountenance  any  tender  feel- 
ing ;  it  would  be  a  violation  of  all  propriety.  So  she 
tried  to  hide  herself  from  herself  and  succeeded  for  a 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOw's    HISTORY.       219 

time.  In  reality,  however,  by  piling  wood  on  the  fire 
to  smother  the  flame,  she  gave  it  all  the  fuel  it  needed. 
She  was  old  enough  and  experienced  enough  to  know 
that  obstacles  are  the  very  food  of  love.  But  age  and 
experience  are  not  satisfied  with  the  first  or  second 
time,  often  not  with  the  hundredth  time.  A  gentle 
restraint  is  but  a  dry  log  thrown  on  a  glowing  bed  of 
coals.  She  preached  to  herself  many  an  excellent 
sermon  derived  from  the  archives  of  her  own  life,  and 
then  subtly  shirked  the  personal  application,  like  many 
another  hearer.  Willing,  unwilling,  she  shunned  the 
river  by  getting  just  in  the  way  of  its  current,  and  was 
delightfully  borne  along,  holding  her  face  always  up 
stream. 

Miss  Winslow,  as  the  reader  may  conjecture,  had 
not  attained  her  present  maturity  without  tasting  the 
bitter-sweet  draught  of  love.  In  her  own  New  En- 
gland she  had  passed  through  courtship  and  betrothal, 
but  she  had  been  turned  back  by  fate  ere  she  had 
reached  the  altar.  The  result  was  she  had  to  take  the 
cup  of  renunciation,  instead  of  happy  fulfillment. 
She  renounced  domestic  life,  she  left  her  home  and 
devoted  herself  to  instruction.  Henceforth  she  vowed 
to  impart  what  was  best  of  herself  to  others ;  she 
would  rear  children  of  her  soul,  if  not  of  her  body. 
This  was  to  her  a  consecration,  a  living  sacrifice ;  her 
life  was  in  a  sense  to  be  that  of  a  nun.  To  be  sure, 
she  was  not  cloistered,  she  was  not  inclosed  in  high 
walls ;  she  was  strong  enough  to  be  her  own  cloister. 
She  had  intense  motherly  instinct,  and  it  had  to  have 
an  outlet,  though  piercing  the  strong  fortress  of  her 
pride.     She  found  the  middle  ground  of  harmony  and 


220 


THE   FHEEBURGERS. 


comfort  in  training*  the  offspring  of  the  less  gifted 
mothers ;  thus  she  became  the  spiritual  mother  of  a 
whole  community. 

It  was  still  love  which  dominated  the  life  of  Miss 
Winslow,  but  love  transformed  and  elevated  into  hu- 
manity instead  of  the  family.  The  Great  West  with 
its  boundless  stretch  of  territory,  had  become  the  seed- 
field  of  these  women ;  we  may  call  it  the  convent  of 
New  England  nuns  who  had  taken  vows,  not  necessa- 
rily of  celibacy,  but  of  duty,  not  the  less  strong  be- 
cause made  to  themselves.  By  a  life  of  activity  the 
school-mistress  had  obtained  the  sacred  marriage, 
dwelling  among  people  and  not  apart  in  some  holy 
inclosure.  The  unfortunate,  if  they  have  obtained 
the  true  value  of  their  discipline,  are  those  who  are 
best  trained  to  help  the  unfortunate.  And  Miss 
Winslow  was  one  whom  misfortune  could  only  purify, 
and  nerve  to  still  greater  endeavor.  The  single  trace 
of  destiny  in  her  character  was  the  slight  satirical  ten- 
dency which  she  could  not  extract  from  her  soul.  It 
was  apparently  the  one  bitter  drop  in  her  disposition 
remaining  over  from  disappointment. 

Her  gift  for  satire  was  particularly  called  into  play  by 
the  attentions  of  a  certain  Dr.  Skinflint,  who  was  the 
only  Yankee  man  in  the  village,  though  there  were  some 
Yankee  farmers  in  the  country  around.  Skinflint  lived 
mainly  by  selling  patent  medicines,  and  by  practicing 
a  little  in  the  medical  profession,  though  people  were 
distrustful  of  him  as  a  physician.  He  also  dealt  in 
religion,  and  once  he  declared  that  Miss  Winslow  was 
an  infidel.  When  all  things  failed,  he  would  take  to 
peddling  clocks.     He  knew  a  good  deal,  but  his  knowl- 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOw's    HISTORY.       221 

edge  was  blasted  by  an  inveterate  tendency  to  charla- 
tanism ;  everybody  and  everything  would  turn  to  a 
kind  of  delusion  under  his  hands,  because  he  was  such 
a  delusion  himself.  The  Yankee  humbug  had  in  him 
a  glorious  representative. 

He  showed  his  character  by  making  fun,  at  first,  of 
the  Yankee  school-mistress,  his  country-woman.  But 
revenge  came  in  a  peculiar  form  ;  sarcasm  met  sar- 
casm, and  in  satirizing  her  he  fell  in  love  with  her,  so 
deftly  was  he  beaten  at  his  own  game.  A  touch  of 
her  tongue  caused  him  to  wilt,  but  it  made  him  demo- 
niac with  that  hate  which  lias  underneath  it  as  impelling 
cause,  love. 

But  Henry  Firestone  was  without  a  rival.  The  affair 
between  him  and  the  school-mistress  had  given  rise  to 
a  little  gossip  in  the  village,  and  to  one  or  two  insipid 
jests.  It  was  also  felt  somewhat  in  the  household, 
especially  on  the  ominous  night  when  the  stone  was 
thrown.  But  the  great  enemy  was  TroUa ;  she  seemed 
to  be  racked  with  throes  of  jealousy  whenever  she  saw 
Miss  Winslow  in  the  house.  We  have  already  seen 
how  easily  she  was  roused  by  the  presence  of  the 
school-mistress.  But  that  cast  of  the  stone  remained  a 
mystery.  Was  it,  too,  the  result  of  some  secret  jeal- 
ousy? Nobody  had  a  solution  of  the  riddle.  It  may 
now  be  told  that  Miss  Winslow  suspected  Skinflint, 
but  without  adequate  reason. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Miss  Winslow  often  opened 
her  eyes  to  the  true  state  of  things  in  her  relation  to 
Henry,  but  she  would  close  them  again.  Her  bright- 
est hour  was  when  he  came  alone  to  recite  his  lesson. 
All  her  most  pleasant  thoughts  outside  of  that  hour 


222  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

were  to  make  the  lesson  agreeable  and  instructive. 
She  found  herself  dropping  her  plain,  neat,  nun-like 
costume  ;  the  well-starched  and  well-ironed  calico  dress 
was  exchanged  for  a  garment  of  higher  pretensions, 
she  could  not  help  trying  to  please  some  eye  by  an  or- 
nament or  two,  which  had  before  been  eschewed. 
Strange  how  she  was  changing  from  her  rigid  suppres- 
sion of  outer  display !  Little  dainties  in  the  way  of 
food  she  would  happen  to  have  and  to  bring  out  on 
such  occasions ;  most  of  these  she  would  prepare  her- 
self and  let  the  fact  be  known  to  Henry,  to  see  if  the 
relish  were  not  thereby  increased.  Even  a  new  adjust- 
ment of  the  furniture  in  the  room,  as  well  as  certain 
little  additions  of  bric-a-brac  were  noticeable.  In  fine, 
she  was  involuntarily  building  round  Henry  the  home, 
with  its  atmosphere,  of  which,  in  all  its  comforts  and 
delights,  she  was  to  be  the  center.  This  instinct  still 
lived  in  her,  though  for  a  long  time  it  had  not  been 
called  forth.  In  many  ways  she  showed  that  her  whole 
nature  was  beginning  to  turn  back  again  toward  do- 
mestic life. 


III. 


Miss  Winslow  had  advised  Henry  to  go  to  college, 
and  had  assisted  him  in  his  studies  with  that  end  in 
view.  But  now  an  unexpected  eddy  of  feeling  set  in  ; 
the  advice  began  to  cost  her  a  good  deal  of  pain, 
though  she  hid  it  with  a  kind  of  shame.  She  would 
gladly  have  kept  the  youth  unwinged  down  on  the  earth 
before  her  eyes,  but  she  had  reared  the  fledgling  to  fly 
and  aspire  the  clouds.     He  was  going,  he  could  not 


r 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW's    HISTORY.       223 

be  stopped  ;  the  next  thing  was  to  direct  his  flight,  by 
some  invisible  cord  attached  to  his  wings. 

It  was  now  her  problem  to  find  for  him  the  right  in- 
stitution of  learning.  She  would  have  preferred  one 
of  the  educational  establishments  of  her  own  New 
England,  where,  she  believed,  was  the  fountain-head  of 
truth.  It  is  best,  she  thought,  to  drink  at  the  source, 
if  possible;  these  Western  runnels  are  insignificant  and 
generally  muddy.  But  she  knew  that  the  very  thought 
of  such  a  scheme  would  produce  consternation  among 
the  Firestones,  and  new  trouble  for  Henry.  The  dis- 
tance was  great,  his  means  moderate,  his  preparation 
probably  inadequate.  He  had  better  stay  on  this  side 
of  the  Alleghanies.  Miss  Winslow  was  still  the  New 
England  woman,  but  the  broad  free  West  had  worked 
off  something  of  her  provincialism,  especially  in  cases 
of  necessity.  She  cast  about  her  for  an  institution  not 
far  from  home. 

It  was  not  hard  to  find.  In  every  part  of  the  West 
new  colleges  were  budding  out  in  all  the  green  fresh- 
ness of  vernal  vegetation.  Each  religious  sect  had  its 
school,  in  which  the  whole  range  of  Science,  Art  and 
Literature,  was  to  be  taught  in  a  grand  scheme  of 
studies  that  often  had  no  students,  and  often  no  pro- 
fessors. Many  of  these  seats  of  erudition  were  un- 
certain enough,  and  their  heaviest  stockholder  was  the 
imagination  ;  but  they  excited  interest  in  their  locali- 
ties and  in  their  respective  denominations;  they  roused 
a  mighty  aspiration  to  learn,  if  not  much  learning. 
From  their  catalogues,  announcements,  and  advertise- 
ments there  blew  over  the  land  a  great  wind,  which, 
at  least,  was  refreshing. 


224  THE    FREEBURGEKS. 

That  so  many  colleges  and  academies  were  shooting 
up  on  all  sides,  was  a  sign  of  the  times ;  men  had  re- 
ceived an  impulse  to  know  their  past  as  the  true  way 
of  reaching  their  future.  No  single  luminary  shone 
with  an  intense  brilliancy,  the  educational  heaven 
broke  out  into  numberless  small  points  of  light,  and 
showed  a  kind  of  Milky  Way,  without  any  star  of  the 
jBrst  or  even  of  the  third  magnitude  breaking  into  the 
lacteal  monotony. 

Miss  Winslow  had  become  interested  in  a  school 
distant  but  some  dozens  of  miles  from  Freeburg,  and 
urged  Henry  to  go  thither.  It  was  a  peculiar  institu- 
tion, not  devoted  to  erudition  so  much  as  to  an  imme- 
diate practical  scholarship.  It  had  two  tenets  which 
turned  out  prophecies  ;  it  maintained  that  the  woman 
should  have  as  complete  an  education  as  the  man,  and 
should  receive  instruction  with  him  —  that  is,  equal 
and  joint  education  of  the  sexes  ;  it  also  maintained 
that  the  African,  man  and  woman,  should  have  the 
same  rights  in  education  and  in  every  other  matter  as 
the  white  race.  It  had  other  peculiarities :  the  relig- 
ious enthusiam  of  the  school  often  transformed  study 
into  a  long  prayer,  the  humanities  into  a  revival, 
while  the  entire  community  might  be  called  a  theoc- 
racy, the  law  of  God  being  above  human  law,  and 
generally  in  contradiction  to  it.  It  was  a  great  train- 
ing-school of  the  time ;  it  had  the  seeds  of  war  and 
revolution  secretly  germinating  in  its  bosom.  The 
special  character  of  its  discipline  was  to  throw  man 
back  upon  his  Conscience  in  an}'^  conflict  with  Institu- 
tions. 

There  was  a  person  in  town  who  had  shown  a  good 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW's    aTSTORY.       225 

deal  of  interest  in  Henry's  culture  —  it  was  Judge 
AUworthy.  He  recommended  an  educational  estab- 
lishment  altogether  different  to  the  young  man  —  one 
which  was  not  very  far  from  Freeh urg  ;  it  had  been 
patterned  after  an  English  University  and  named 
from  a  British  lord.  It  was  a  quiet  scholarly  place, 
with  large  libraries,  and  very  erudite  professors,  who 
took  little  interest  in  that  part  of  the  universe  which 
lay  outside  of  their  books.  One  could  there  delight- 
fully repose  in  the  shades  of  learning,  and  live  after 
the  established  order  in  State,  Church  and  Society, 
while  the  thunders  of  the  world  rumbled  in  the  dis- 
tance. 

It  was  a  little  conflict  again.  The  Judge  called 
Henry,  who  was  passing,  into  his  oflSce  one  day. 

'*  I  hear  that  you  intend  going  to  school  to  Howard- 
town?  *' 

"  It  is  not  yet  fully  decided." 

"  I  distrust  that  place  in  politics,  religion  and  edu- 
cation. I  distrust,  too,  its  New  England  origin. 
Women  and  men,  white  and  black,  make  a  mixture 
hostile  to  study,  and  I  think  hostile  to  morals.  Strange 
stories  are  told  of  the  doings  there.  At  least  you 
ought  to  have  quiet,  if  you  wish  to  learn.  That  town 
is  in  a  continued  whirl  of  political,  religious  and  social 
excitement.  Besides,  it  is  the  leader  in  the  new 
fanaticism,  which  threatens  the  peace  of  the  whole 
country." 

"Do  you  really  think  so?"  asked  Henry  inno- 
cently ? 

"Certainly,  look  at  our  elections."  The  Judge 
still   showed  a  streak  of  sourness  over  his  defeat,  in 

ift 


226  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

which  he  sometimes  saw  the  ruin  of  the  nation. 
Henry,  who  had  taken  sides  with  the  party  which  had 
sent  the  Judge  into  retirement,  felt  in  a  disagreea- 
ble position,  and  turned  the  subject  back  into  the 
former  channel. 

"  Miss  Winslow  recommends  Howardtown  col- 
lege." 

**  Ah,  yes,  Miss  Winslow,  the  Yankee  school-mis- 
tress !  I  do  not  know  what  to  make  of  that  woman,  I 
find  her  every-where  and  nowhere.'* 

Therewitli  the  conversation  ended,  and  Henry  with- 
drew after  politely  expressing  his  thanks  for  the  ad- 
vice. The  Judge  had  again  run  upon  the  chief  fact 
of  the  town  —  the  secret  working  of  Miss  Hope  Win- 
slow  —  in  this  small  matter  of  choosing  a  college  for 
a  youth.  Herein,  too,  the  Judge  was  beaten,  as  well 
as  anticipated  by  the  Yankee  school-mistress.  And  it 
is  time  now  to  state  another  fact :  the  Judge,  in  the 
last  election  was  really  defeated  by  Miss  Hope  Win- 
slow,  though  at  the  time  he  did  not  know  it.  But  now 
he  has  begun  to  have  a  stray  inkling  of  the  true  state 
of  affairs.  It  may  be  said  with  respect,  that  the  Judge 
too  has  been  sent  to  school  to  her,  the  Yankee  school- 
mistress, and  is  in  a  fair  way  of  learning  something, 
even  at  his  time  of  life. 

Miss  Winslow  had  been  the  chief  instructor  in  the 
town  of  Freeburg  for  a  number  of  years,  in  fact,  the 
sole  instructor  in  the  higher  matters  of  education. 
She  had  come  from  New  England  to  the  West  to  pour 
out  freely  the  oil  of  life  in  order  to  give  light  to  the 
wilderness.  She  was  a  spiritual  frontierswoman,  and  a 
physical  one  too ;  in  a  group  of  log  cabins  she  first  ap- 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW's    HISTORY.        227 

peared,  with  an  idea  in  her  head  and  a  horn-book  in 
her  hand. 

Her  school-house,  made  of  the  trees  of  the  primitive 
forest  which  were  chipped  off  on  the  sides  and  smoothed 
down  with  some  care  by  the  broad-axe,  was  the  first 
one  in  Freeburg.  After  a  short  time  she  had  the  logs 
weather-boarded,  and  the  roof  covered  with  shingles 
instead  of  clapboards,  so  that  it  put  on  the  more  re- 
fined appearance  of  a  frame  house.  The  brick  struct- 
ure, which  we  have  often  noticed,  came  in  due  time, 
being  built  on  the  prominent  ground  which  Miss  Win- 
slow  herself  had  selected.  She  met  with  some  opposi- 
tion, but  she  was  always  staunchly  supported  by  Judge 
Allworthy,  then  the  most  influential  man  of  the  town. 

The  best  school  in  the  whole  surrounding  region  for 
many  miles  was  hers,  and  every  boy  and  girl  of  strong 
aspiration,  who  had  wished  a  better  education  than 
their  immediate  neighborhood  afforded,  flocked  to  her 
instruction.  Thus  she  had  trained  the  flower  of  the 
youth  in  that  locality ;  the  generation  of  young  men 
and  women  just  entering  the  active  career  of  life  had 
felt  her  forming  hand.  Her  influence,  though  quite 
unrecognized  in  its  deepest  and  subtlest  phase,  was  the 
chief  one  in  moulding  public  opinion  upon  the  ques- 
tions of  the  hour.  It  is  true  that  she  inculcated  in  her 
school  no  distinctive  set  of  religious,  ^political,  or  so- 
cial doctrines  ;  still  she  taught,  in  the  most  unequivocal 
and  effective  manner,  what  underlies  them  all. 

She  imparted  her  instruction  not  only  in  educational 
branches  as  such,  but  she  always  showed  a  tendency 
to  pass  over  into  morals ;  and  morals  in  a  hidden  way 
reached  out  into  politics,  and  started  a  fermentation. 


228  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

It  was  she,  in  particular,  who  roused  the  dormant  Con- 
science ;  she  appealed  to  it,  developed  it,  all  her  les- 
sons went  toward  it,  and  ended  in  it,  as  the  true  home 
of  the  soul.  But  not  only  by  way  of  instruction  was 
this  result  brought  about ;  in  the  very  management  of 
her  school  she  threw  her  pupils  back  upon  Conscience, 
and  he  who  failed  in  it  was  the  black  sheep  of  the  flock, 
though  in  study  he  might  be  the  first  of  his  class.  She 
had  little  or  no  external  regulation  in  her  method  of 
control,  though  order  was  almost  perfect ;  the  pupil 
had  to  be  judge  of  his  own  conduct*  for  the  day,  and, 
at  the  end  of  the  diurnal  session,  pass  decision  pub- 
licly upon  himself,  in  the  presence  of  his  fellows.  It 
was  a  severe  test,  under  which  the  weak  often  broke 
down,  and  those  secretly  false  became  open  liars ; 
but,  in  the  main,  it  trained  the  man  to  be  a  law  unto 
himself,  and  much  more  —  to  be  law,  judge,  jury,  and 
executioner  unto  himself.  Her  whole  school  might  be 
called  a  Conscience  organized. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  a  certain  re-action  often 
manifested  itself  in  this  method  of  education.  As 
already  hinted,  it  made  the  bad  worse  in  unfavorable 
temperaments ;  but,  in  the  best  souls  even,  it  had  a 
tendency  to  beget  a  spiritual  pride  which  could  see 
only  its  own  Tightness  and  the  utter  wrongness  of  the 
rest  of  the  world.  Without  his  intending  it,  without 
his  knowing  it,  the  pupil  when  a  man  came  to  ignore 
the  commandment,  the  statute,  the  word  of  authority, 
unless  supplemented  by  his  personal  insight  and  ap- 
proval. Even  institutions  were  regarded  as  something 
wholly  external  to  the  person,  and  dispensable,  or,  at 


most,  as  a  necessary  evil.  Foundations,  long-estab- 
lished, began  to  shake,  but  of  the  inner  man  there  was 
a  great  awakening  just  through  the  commotion ;  no- 
body can  sleep  in  the  rumblings  of  an  earthquake, 
with  the  ground  rolling  and  whirling  beneath  the  feet. 
A  great  internal  light  was  indeed  kindled,  but  it 
threatened  to  set  the  world  on  fire  and  burn  it  up. 

In  this  way  one  could  see  developed  in  Miss  Wins- 
low's  school,  both  as  a  whole  and  in  every  particular 
mind  of  her  school,  that  conflict  which  we  have  beheld 
in  the  community.  It  has  already  been  stated  that 
the  recent  election  turned  upon  the  question:  Is  Con- 
science or  Law  supreme? 

Judge  Allworthy,  the  champion  of  legality,  we  have 
seen  defeated  for  the  first  time  in  his  life.  The 
change  had  occurred,  and  great  was  the  surprise; 
nobody  knew  the  source  of  it  altogether,  but,  in  real- 
ity, the  conflict  of  principles  engendered  in  the  school 
was  passing  into  society.  Harvey  Conington,  the 
young  advocate  who  had  gained  the  victory,  was  one 
of  Miss  Winslow's  earliest  pupils.  After  her  training 
he  studied  law,  and  carried  into  the  very  fortress  of 
the  enemy,  the  spirit  of  his  teacher.  It  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  Miss  Hope  Winslow  was  the  real 
power  that  overwhelmed  Judge  Allworthy  and  his 
whole  party  ;  she  had  done  it  effectually  and  had  done 
it  forever.  But  in  this  case  and  in  other  cases,  the 
power  was  hidden  which  was  moving  the  spiritual 
clock-work  of  Time  toward  the  hour  when  the  great 
change  was  to  strike. 


230  THE    FREEBURGERS. 


IV. 


Thus  that  lone  woman  had  brought  light  to  the  little 
town  of  Freeburg,  insignificant  enough  on  the  map  of 
the  world,  containing  less  than  one  thousand  souls. 
She  had  bestowed  upon  it  the  implements  of  all  cul- 
ture, the  common  branches  of  education ;  with  them 
she  gave,  too,  a  moral  conscience,  which  at  once  took 
a  political  rather  than  a  religious  bias.  She  was 
greater  than  any  minister  of  the  gospel,  though  there 
were  seven  churches  in  the  place,  one  to  a  sect,  and 
several  sects  without  any  church.  These  various  de- 
nominations were  eno;ao^ed  in  rivalries  of  one  sort  or 
other,  chiefly  in  the  matter  of  revivals,  and  in  vehe- 
ment discussion  of  their  respective  dogmas.  But  the 
ministers  had  to  stop  long  enough  to  take  sides  on  the 
question  of  the  hour,  and  they  were  pretty  evenly 
divided  at  first.  But  the  most  of  them  became  un- 
conscious followers  of  Miss  Winslow,  who,  in  this  re- 
spect, too,  showed  her  tact  and  secretiveness.  She, 
with  no  little  artifice,  visited,  in  turn,  all  the  churches, 
said  her  prayers,  and  praised  the  preacher,  but  at- 
tached herself  to  none.  It  was  for  this  reason  that 
Skinflint  called  her  an  infidel. 

But  in  the  mind  of  Judge  Allworthy,  who  had  given 
her  much  encouragement  and  financial  support  in 
several  enterprises,  she  felt  suspicion  to  be  brewing. 
She  resolved  to  call  upon  him  in  person.  She  took, 
as  a  pretext,  the  little  piece  of  paper  on  which  was  the 
statement  of  his  annual  dues  to  the  town  library, 
which  she  had  organized.     They  met  in  the  Judge's 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW's    HISTORY.       231 

drawing-room  ;  the  free  courtesy  of  the  old  Virginia 
gentleman  was  indeed  a  contrast  to  the  somewhat  stiff , 
self-suppressive  politeness  of  the  Yankee  lady ;  the 
one  seemed  to  flow  spontaneously  outwards,  the  other 
seemed  to  be  forced  back  by  an  effort  of  will  inwards. 
After  the  compliments  the  Judge  glanced  at  the  paper, 
and  then  wrapped  it  around  his  thumb  in  a  thought- 
ful mood.  He  had  never  done  so  before.  First  was 
a  little  pause,  then  the  question  came:  — 

*'  Who  selects  the  books  for  this  library?  '* 

Miss  Winslow  answered  it  by  another  question : — 

"  Would  Judge  All  worthy  like  to  make  a  choice  of 
some  works  ?  ' ' 

"  I  suppose  it  is  Miss  Winslow  who  makes  the  se- 
lection," said  the  Judge,  in  a  little  satirical  banter. 

'*If  nobody  else  does,"  she  replied. 

"  Your  books  come  mainly  from  New  England,  I 
presume." 

*'From  what  other  quarter  could  they  come?  " 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  Judge  with  unaffected 
candor. 

**  But  I  hope  that  Freeburg  will  yet  produce  its 
printed  work,"  said  Miss  Winslow. 

" It  has  already  begun  to  print,  I  imagine,"  said 
the  Judge  mysteriously.  He  continued:  "  I  see  you 
have  pamphlets,  magazines,  newspapers  —  the  litera- 
ture of  the  day." 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  replied,"  "we  belong  to  our  own 
time,  and  are  trying  to  live  in  it." 

"  And  you  make  the  selection  of  what  we  shall 
read,"  repeated  the  Judge. 

Miss  Winslow,  with  all  her  self-control,  would  grow 


232  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

a  little  tart  at  times.  Her  question  now  was  slightlj^ 
acidulous:  "  Does  Judge  AUworthy  wish  to  withdraw 
his  subscription  from  the  library?  *' 

He,  turning  to  her  with  complete  openness  and  po- 
liteness,  said :  — 

"  Oh,  no,  not  at  all ;  I,  too,  am  in  the  stream.** 

Thereupon  he  handed  her  the  money,  and  had  again 
surrendered  to  the  school-mistress. 

But  there  is  no  doubt  he  had  come  upon  an  impor- 
tant fact  in  the  life  of  the  town,  a  fact  to  which  he 
had  been  blind  before.  She  was  not  only  mistress  of 
the  school,  but  mistress  of  the  printed  page  in  Free- 
burg.  She  made  the  library  an  instrument  for  direct- 
ing the  reading  of  the  people ;  she  first  taught  them 
how  to  read,  then  furnished  them  what  to  read.  To 
be  sure,  her  power  was  hidden  in  this  case  too,  at 
least  not  obtrusive ;  she  never  commanded,  never  in- 
terfered directly ;  she  simply  laid  down  the  spiritual 
lines,  and  everybody  moved  in  them  without  further 
prompting.  Even  the  Judge  could  not  free  himself  of 
the  net-work  of  her  influence  ;  nay,  she  had  made  him 
unconsciously  contribute  the  very  means  for  his  own 
defeat. 

Even  her  personal  peculiarities  impressed  themselves 
curiousl}^  upon  the  village.  The  younger  generation 
talked  a  modified  Yankee  dialect,  as  pronounced  by 
Miss  Winslow,  and  made  it  a  kind  of  test  of  educa- 
tion, and  even  of  character.  The  angular  handwrit- 
ing of  the  school-mistress  was  transmitted  to  all  her 
pupils ;  particularly  the  young  ladies  imitated  it,  and 
carried  the  converging  lines  of  her  letters  to  the  point 
of  piercing  acuteness.     Some  girls,  too,  appropriated 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW's    HISTORY.        233 

the  sarcastic  tinge  of  her  speech  without  her  redeem- 
ing quahties  ;  the  important  matter  for  them  was  to  be 
bright,  keen,  witty  ;  thus  her  school  turned  out  some 
pretty  bitter  specimens  of  the  satirical  female.  Also 
boys  of  this  sort  were  not  wanting ;  Dick  Turnover, 
soon  to  be  met  with  in  his  chosen  calling,  has  been 
already  mentioned  as  the  young  scoffer  of  the  town. 

She  put  under  training  not  only  the  youth  of  the 
village,  but  also  the  people  of  middle-age,  espe- 
cially the  women  who  had  any  aspiration  for  self- 
development,  and  who  sought  to  find  the  wisdom  of 
what  has  been  written.  She  started  a  literary  club, 
called  "  Every  Saturday,"  with  whose  members  she 
began  a  special  discipline,  which  has  since  that  time 
extended  far  and  wide.  The  great  books  of  universal 
literature,  products  of  many  diverse  ages  and  peoples, 
were  studied  and  commented  upon,  not  as  works  of 
erudition,  not  simply  as  treasuries  of  beautiful  ex- 
pression, but  as  lights  for  right  living.  It  was  found 
that  all  these  books  had  the  pulse-beat  of  humanity, 
which  was  felt  in  them  more  distinctly  than  in  any 
other  work  of  man  ;  they  were  in  unison  with  the  great 
movement  of  the  time,  and  uttered  the  prophecy  of 
its  outcome,  were  they  but  rightly  read.  Miss  Win- 
slow  saw  in  them  the  perennial  struggle  for  freedom ; 
she  also  saw  in  them  the  sway  of  conscience,  and  made 
the  best  Freeburgers  see  it  there  too.  The  World's 
literature  she  beat  into  a  sword  for  her  cause. 

The  school  and  the  library  and  the  literary  club  were, 
however,  not  the  limits  of  Miss  Winslow's  employment 
of  the  printed  page.  To  her  can  be  traced  the  origin 
of  the  Freeburg  Banner^  a  newspaper  edited  by  one  of 


234  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

her  first  pupils,  who  had  a  tendency  to  be  an  immoral 
moralizer,  and  whom  she  had  inspired  with  the  idea  of 
a  journalistic  career.  Rumor  had  it  that  she  wrote 
many  of  the  leading  articles,  or  at  least  suggested  their 
outlines.  Be  this  as  it  ma}^  the  school-mistress  knew 
the  full  meaning  of  the  printing-press  in  our  modern 
life,  and  she  employed  it  as  one  of  her  spiritual  weapons. 
The  Freeburg  Banner  had  a  strong  political,  nay, 
partisan  tenclenc}',  but  every-where  on  it  was  inscribed 
that  word  Conscience,  which  could  be  read  in  the  lines, 
and  between  the  lines,  and  sometimes  in  the  very  ad- 
vertisements, for  on  certain  conditions  it  was  for  sale. 
It  could  be  narrow,  unfair,  and  blacken  private  char- 
acter to  attain  its  ends,  while  it  preached  the  great 
doctrines  of  liberty  and  humanity.  It  had  been  caught 
in  a  lie  in  one  column,  while  parading  its  lofty  motives 
in  another.  It  proclaimed  the  duty  of  sacrifice  to  the 
great  cause,  while  secretly  scrambling  for  the  loaves 
and  fishes  of  oflSce.  The  universal  good  was  always 
blazoned  in  the  largest  type  and  biggest  words,  in  order 
to  cover  up  the  personal  end.  It  gave  its  readers  no 
peacfe,  but  lashed  them  into  introspection  and  self-ex- 
amination without  mercy,  that  they  might  find  in  them- 
selves what  was  the  right,  and  where  was  freedom. 
But  in  right  and  freedom,  it  never  failed  to  discover 
its  own  little  corner  of  self-interest.  Miss  Winslow, 
of  course,  was  not  responsible  for  the  excesses  of  the 
Freeburg  Banner ;  it  had  diabolized  that  leading  trait 
of  hers,  which  has  already  been  observed,  namely,  the 
ability  to  see  always  the  general  welfare  in  the  partic- 
ular advantage. 

But  the  enemy  soon  learns  to  appropriate  the  most 


effective  weapon ;  so  it  was  not  long  before  the  Free- 
burg  Watchman  appeared,  a  newspaper  devoted  to  op- 
position. The  character  of  this  sheet  was  a  curious 
mixture  of  abuse  and  apology ;  it  assailed  bitterly  and 
excused  feebly ;  when  it  was  not  finding  fault,  it  was 
compelled  to  stand  on  the  defensive.  It  was  a  nega- 
tive newspaper,  a  denier  tatooed  in  printer's  ink.  It 
very  sharply  censured  the  current,  because  it  could 
not  swim  up  stream  ;  it  berated  the  spirit  of  the  time 
for  not  consulting  its  interest  or  tendency.  Meanwhile 
the  aggressive  newspaper,  the  Banner,  kept  extending 
its  territory,  and  had,  in  the  recent  election,  come  into 
possession  of  the  spoils  of  office. 

The  editor  of  the  opposition  journal,  a  man  of  native 
cunning,  began  to  suspect  who  was  really  the  chief  ad- 
versary, and  he  inserted  some  sly  thrusts  at  the  school- 
mistress. Miss  Winslow  resolved  ta  disarm  him ;  she 
straightway  went  and  offered  to  write  for  his  paper. 
She  entered  his  den  through  piles  of  old  papers  and  old 
dust,  and  said:  "I  have  come  to  help  you  a  little. 
Would  you  not  like  to  have  me  make  for  you  a  sum- 
mary of  foreign  news  every  week  ?  I  notice  you  have 
none." 

The  editor  looked  puzzled,  as  he  well  might,  to  hear 
her  make  such  an  offer.  But  he  rallied  and  asked: 
*'  What  are  your  charges?  " 

''  Oh,  nothing,  I  would  do  it  for  my  own  informa- 
tion. I  wish  to  make  such  a  summary  for  myself,  and 
you  might  as  well  have  it." 

*'  Why  do  you  not  take  it  to  the  other  office?  " 

*'  I  wish  you  to  have  it." 

The  editor  no  longer  resisted.    Every  week  European 


236  '  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

news,  especially  the  European  political  movement  in 
its  liberal  phase,  was  a  part  of  the  Watchman,  and  a 
part  whose  spirit  did  not  always  agree  with  the  spirit 
of  the  editorial  column.  Many  little  favors  she  did  ; 
she  wrote  the  obituary  notices,  on  which  the  editor  had 
already  exhausted  himself ;  she  inserted  little  bits  of 
poetry,  with  her  name  attached,  that  the  world  might 
see  for  which  newspaper  she  was  writing,  as  her 
name  never  appeared  in  the  Banner.  During  the 
recent  political  campaign,  while  the  Banner  smote 
mightily  for  conscience  and  the  young  advocate, 
and  for  the  public  printing.  Miss  Winslow  published 
in  the  columns  of  the  Watchman  an  unusually  long 
and  learned  article  on  the  "  Wanderings  of  the  Gyp- 
sies." 

It  was  while  she  was  at  the  oflfice  of  the  Watchman 
that  she  met  Diok  Turnover,  the  nicknamer  of  Free- 
burg,  who  was  just  entering  upon  his  career  as  mon- 
grel between  reporter  and  printer's  devil.  Though  still 
young,  he  had  found  his  vocation ;  it  was  part  of  his 
duty  to  invent  facts  for  the  newspaper,  and  make 
them  funny.  It  was  not  necessary  for  Dick  to  be 
present  at  any  meeting  in  order  to  give  a  full  account 
of  all  that  was  said  and  done ;  he  could  also  write  a 
minute  personal  description  of  people  whom  he  had 
never  seen.  He  always  thought  the  picture  just  as 
good,  indeed  just  the  same  as  the  reality.  Yet  he  had 
talent  and  information;  he  was  bright,  witty,  com- 
prehended easily.  But  the  fundamental  fact  of  char- 
acter remained ;  he  could  not  tell  the  difference  be- 
tween a  lie  and  the  truth,  and  this  trait  of  his  he 
was  now  putting  to  masterful  use  in  journalism.     He 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW's    HISTORY.       237 

was  one  of  Miss  Winslow's  former  pupils,  but  her 
moral  training  had  landed  him  on  the  other  side  of 
morals. 

V. 

In  all  this  work  Miss  Winslow  was  happy,  yet  a 
note  of  dissatisfaction  began  to  make  itself  heard  in 
her  soul — ^a  note,  however,  which  she  rigidly  sup- 
pressed to  the  outer  world.  That  she,  the  maker  of 
votes,  should  be  no  voter  herself,  began  to  be  an  an- 
omaly in  her  eyes.  Gradually  the  thought  dawned 
upon  her,  that  a  change  must  be  made  in  the  political 
and  economic  condition  of  woman  ;  but  this  thought 
she  kept  down  in  the  press  and  stress  of  another  great 
cause.  She  heard,  too,  from  her  New  England  home, 
that  her  sex  were  moving  for  what  they  deemed 
their  rights,  chief  of  which  was  the  right  to  vote. 

The  town  of  Freeburg  was  surprised  one  day  by  a 
poster  stating  that  Mrs.  Strikeback,  Mrs.  Mehitable 
Strikeback,  the  famous  female  orator  and  controver- 
sialist, would  speak  in  the  Public  Hall  on  the  subject 
of  Woman's  Rights.  Everybody  turned  out  to  hear 
of  the  new  reform ;  some  of  the  men  were  inclined  to 
look  on  it  with  favor,  though  the  most,  even  the  ad- 
vanced spirits,  laughed  at  it  in  an  amused  sort  of  way, 
as  if  querying.  Well,  what  next?  But  the  women  of 
Freeburg  went  further,  they  scorned  the  new  doctrine, 
they  ridiculed  their  own  wrongs,  they  became  bitterly 
satirical  against  the  sister  who  had  dared  to  stir  them 
up  about  their  rights.  And  it  must  be  confessed  that 
Mrs.  Strikeback  had  some  unlovely  traits,  and  excited 
universal  inquiry  about  her  husband,  his  present  con' 


238  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

dition  and  future  prospects.  Was  he  at  home  taking 
care  of  the  children  ?  She  had  evidently  brooded  over 
the  grievances  of  her  sex,  till  she  herself  became  an  in- 
tolerable grievance,  and  upon  the  men  of  her  audience 
she  paid  back  many  an  old  score  for  past  acts  of  man's 
tyranny  to  woman. 

Miss  Winslow  kept  doggedly  silent;  with  all  her 
strength  she  loved  womanliness  in  woman.  Whatever 
her  sympathy  with  the  cause,  she  shunned  any  deal- 
ings with  its  advocate.  She  may,  too,  have  thought 
that  she  had  enough  to  do  for  the  present ;  if  she  took 
any  more  seed  in  her  hands,  it  would  simply  overflow 
and  be  wasted. 

But  there  was  one  decided  outspoken  convert  in 
Freeburg,  it  was  the  good  and  gentle  Aunt  Polly,  in 
most  things  the  opposite  of  Mrs.  Strikeback.  It  was 
strange  how  such  a  mind  as  the  latter  had,  could  take 
possession  of  that  mild,  sweet  woman's  soul.  Aunt 
Polly  met  Miss  Winslow  coming  out  the  lecture,  and 
said:  — 

"  Is  not  this  a  glorious  revelation?  " 

Miss  Winslow  replied:    "  Do  you  think  so." 

"  The  best  speech  I  ever  heard  in  the  town." 

"Ha,  indeed!" 

"What  do  you  think  of  our  cause?"  asked  Aunt 
Polly  with  zeal. 

"  I  have  not  yet  made  up  my  mind,"  the  school- 
mistress answered. 

"  How  can  you  delay  in  such  an  important  matter?" 

"  Time  teaches  me  to  go  slow." 

"You  are  worthy  of  being  enslaved,"  said  Aunt 
Polly  with  heat.      "  Just  think  how  we  have  been  out- 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW's    HISTORY.       239 

raged!  "  This  subject  appeared  to  destroy  her  nat- 
ural mildness. 

Miss  Winslow  kept  silent,  as  she  turned  to  put  In 
order  a  cuff  slightly  displaced.  Aunt  Polly  went  so 
far  as  to  intimate  that  the  school-mistress  had  not  the 
courage  of  her  opinions.  "  It  will  come,"  cried  Aunt 
Polly,  "  it  will  come,"  and  she  stated  that  she  was 
going  to  declare  at  once  for  the  new  reform. 

"  I  think  you  have  already  declared,"  said  Miss 
Winslow  in  parting. 

Aunt  Polly  was  one  of  the  most  self-sacrificing  of 
women,  her  whole  life  had  been  given  for  others,  but 
now  she  somehow  began  to  think  that  she  was  oppressed, 
wronged,  deprived  of  her  rights  —  or,  that  her  sex  had 
thus  suffered.  All  her  thoughts,  ambitions,  econo- 
mies were  to  serve  her  brother's  children  ;  no  compensa- 
tion, not  even  gratitude,  was  asked  in  return  for  her  de- 
votion. She  was  withal  quite  modest,  shrinking,  outside 
of  her  household  ;  she  could  not  be  induced  to  speak 
in  meetin'g,  or  pray  in  public,  even  when  her  church 
put  it  upon  her.  It  seemed  a  riddle  ;  but  the  truth  is,  it 
requires  a  strong  individuality  to  surrender  one's  in- 
dividuality. Aunt  Polly  was  not  an  ardent  politician, 
though  she  took  sides  with  the  party  of  Conscience, 
but  a  word  about  Woman's  Rights  would  set  her  on 
fire.  She  would  not  stand  any  jesting,  however  mild, 
on  the  subject.  Henry  laughed  at  her  a  little  at  first, 
but  he  soon  felt  the  heat  of  her  heart  in  strong  speech, 
.and  thereafter  desisted  from  mentioning  the  matter. 

Still,  in  regard  to  the  woman  question,  the  battle 
opened  in  Freeburg,  not  on  its  political,  but  on  its 
economic  side.     The  rival  store  to  Firestone's  took  a 


240  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

lady  clerk ;  it  was  uot  a  very  important  matter,  yet 
it  was  au  innovation,  and  the  little  buzz  began.  At  a 
tea-party,  the  affair  was  talked  over:  '*  How  bold!  ** 
said  one  matron.  "  I  shall  not  trade  with  any  woman 
in  a  store,"  said  another.  "  I  shall  not  go  to  the 
store,"  said  the  third.  Aunt  Polly,  who  was  present, 
heard  these  comments  in  silence.  But  as  soon  as  she 
could,  she  excused  herself  from  the  company,  seized 
her  wallet,  and  went  straight  to  the  store  of  her 
brother's  competitor,  into  which  she  had  never  set  her 
foot  before.  Once  there,  she  asked  for  the  ladv  clerk 
specially,  and  traded  with  her  to  the  extent  of  five 
dollars,  though  she  could  have  obtained  the  same  ar- 
ticles at  her  brother's  store  for  nothing.  She  finished 
her  purchases  with  the  strong  exhortation  to  the 
woman  to  stand  firm  and  assert  the  rights  of  her  sex. 

"It  will  come,  it  will  come,"  cried  Aunt  Polly, 
as  she  was  leaving  the  store,  "  it  will  come,  if  not  in 
one  way,  then  in  another.  Mark  the  prophecy,  I  say, 
it  will  come.  Woman  must  have  freedom  to6,  and  in 
woman's  way,  not  in  man's;  if  it  be  not  suffrage, 
then  it  will  be  something  else  just  as  good,  or  better 
than  suffrage.     But  mark  my  words,  it  will  come." 

Aunt  Polly  was  far  oftener  in  the  practical  than 
in  the  prophetic  mood,  but  this  time  her  face  seemed 
lit  with  the  flash  of  inspiration. 

This  little  ripple  had  ceased  to  babble,  when  the 
same  question  rose  anew  and  stirred  the  town  to  the 
bottom.  Dr.  Grimes,  the  leading  physician  of  the 
place,  took  a  prominent  young  lady.  Miss  May 
Underwood,  into  his  office  to  study  medicine.  At 
first  the  pretext  was  given  out   that  she  was  only  an 


assistant ;  but  as  she  was  seen  delving  in  the  books  of 
bis  medical  library,  and  poring  over  horrible  wood- 
cuts in  the  *'  Outlines  of  Anatomy,"  it  was  justly  in- 
ferred that  she  was  studying  these  pictures  not  for 
their  beauty,  but  for  their  utility.  The  secret  came 
out  with  an  explosion:  Miss  May  Underwood  was 
going  to  be  a  doctor.  Oh  horror !  She  was  beautiful, 
very  capable,  of  excellent  education,  of  one  of  the 
best  families.  What  could  induce  her  to  such  a 
career  ? 

The  first  cause  was  not  far  to  seek,  though  carefully 
secreted  —  it  was  none  other  than  Miss  Hope  Wins- 
low.  The  latter  had  educated  Miss  May,  had  given 
her  private  lessons  in  Latin  that  she  might  know  the 
meaning  of  the  names  of  the  bones  and  muscles,  and 
understand  the  nomenclature  of  science  generally. 
The  school-mistress  had  inspired  the  pupil  with  a  new 
right  —  the  right  to  a  choice  of  vocation,  to  which 
taste,  training  and  genius  led.  The  woman  is  not  to 
be  excluded  from  the  fullest  and  truest  activity  of 
which  she  is  capable.  Miss  Winslow  herself  was  the 
living  example  of  success  in  one  great  profession ; 
Miss  Underwood,  with  her  guidance  and  advice, 
reached  out  for  another.  Economic  freedom  had 
dawned  on  the  women  of  Freeburg,  though  under 
their  own  strong  protest  that  the  sun  ought  not  to 
rise.  Dr.  Skinflint,  the  quack,  in  particular  was 
opposed  to  letting  women  enter  the  medical  profes- 
sion.    He  would  again  have  to  start  peddling  clocks. 

One  of  the  curious  turns  of  this  affair  was,  that  Dr. 
Grimes  was  a  Southerner  and  a  conservative,  but  he 
clung  with  a  Kentuckian's  chivalry  to  the  young  lady 


242  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

whom  he  had  taken  as  his  pupil.  His  intimate  friend, 
Judge'  Allworth}^  remonstrated  with  him,  and  ended 
with  a  terrible  prophecy :  *'  These  women  will  yet  come 
into  the  legal  profession."  "It  might  improve  you, 
if  they  did,"  responded  the  Doctor.  But  the  Judge 
soon  recovered  himself,  and  with  a  genial  smile,  de- 
clared :  "Yes,  we  are  all  in  the  stream,  borne  forward, 
though  resisting."  Judge  All  worth}',  that  oldest  pu- 
pil of  the  school-mistress  in  the  village,  is  learning  his 
lesson,  learning  it  well,  and  may  yet,  in  spite  of  his 
years,  reach  the  head  of  the  class.  But  the  young 
advocate,  Harvey  Conington,  whom  we  have  seen  as 
the  successful  candidate  in  the  recent  election,  seems, 
after  getting  his  hand  on  th.e  plow,  to  be  looking  back. 
When  he  heard  of  this  new  breaking  of  old  shackles, 
he  was  actually  startled,  and  exclaimed  with  a  puz- 
zled look:  "  Where  is  this  thing  going  to  end?  What 
sort  of  a  world  will  it  be  when  we  all  get  emanci- 
pated—  black  and  white,  man  and  woman,  old  and 
young?  "  This  was  the  ardent  orator  who  had  helped 
let  in  the  deluge ;  but  a  few  weeks  of  his  oflSce,  the 
judgeship,  in  which  he  had  to  stand  by  what  was  es- 
tablished, or  be  dashed  to  pieces  at  once  upon  an 
ocean  of  caprice,  had  already  sufficed  to  color  his  way 
of  thinking.  On  the  contrary,  Judge  AUworthy, 
freed  from  official  trammels,  was  slowly  passing  into  a 
new  horizon  of  vision. 

In  this  way  it  may  with  truth  be  declared,  that  the 
Yankee  school-mistress  had  taken  spiritual  possession 
of  Freeburg,  and  had  inoculated  it  with  all  her  tenden- 
cies, which  were,  moreover,  the  tendencies  of  the  time. 
Education  was  her  open,  direct  employment,  but  with 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WlNSLOW's    HISTORY.        243 

it  she  coupled  her  hidden  vocation,  which  extended  its 
influence  to  the  public  affairs  of  the  community,  nay, 
of  the  commonwealth,  as  well  as  reached  down  into 
the  private  workings  of  every  individual  soul.  She 
had  stamped  her  mind  and  character  upon  the  town 
far  more  than  any  other  person  in  it ;  she  had  really 
transformed  it  into  a  school  of  which  she  was  the 
mistress.  Indeed,  the  world  is  always  a  vast  educa- 
tional establishment,  good  or  bad,  and  is  ruled  by 
some  invisible  pedagogue  with  his  birch,  whereof  the 
little  cosmic  shred  called  Freeburg  is  at  present  a 
burning  example. 

The  light  of  knowledge  shone  into  every  soul  of  the 
community ;  nobody  was  excluded,  in  fact,  there  was 
strong  invitation  to  come  and  partake  of  the  common 
property  of  mankind  called  intelligence.  Yet  there 
was  one  exception.  There  was  one  individual  who 
had  no  invitation,  no  chance,  no  right  to  share  in  the 
general  illumination.  It  was  Cudjo  Bell,  the  African, 
reputed  runaway  slave,  whom  law  and  prejudice  did 
not  permit  to  be  educated,  even  in  Freeburg.  His 
black  skin  showed  not  only  the  darkness  of  the  poor 
negro,  but  still  more  the  darkness  of  the  community, 
of  the  whole  land.  As  long  as  he  remained  ignorant, 
light  was  not  universal ;  and  as  long  as  the  citizens 
compelled  or  even  permitted  him  to  remain  ignorant, 
they  were  in  the  dark,  and  they  had  yet  to  learn  the 
chief  lesson  of  education.  That  one  human  being, 
Cudjo  Bell,  stood  in  the  sunlight  which  beneficently 
fell  fromheh-ven,  and,  like  a  portentous  black  colossus, 
cast  a  shadow  over  all  Freeburg. 


244  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

Miss  Winslow  was  the  person  who  saw  that  shadow 
most  distinctly,  and  the  person  who  felt  its  chill  most 
strongly.  She  resolved  to  remove  it  at  all  hazards ; 
she  turned  over  in  her  mind  this  scheme  and  that,  but 
kept  her  secret.  Her  work  was  not  done  till  that 
darkness  was  driven  out  of  Freeburg,  and  till  even  the 
brain  of  the  African  should  be,  not  a  light-obstructor, 
but  a  light-bearer.  Her  resolution  was  fixed,  but  the 
means  were  not  clear,  when  a  little  turn  of  chance 
brought  the  plan  to  sudden  consummation.  She  hap- 
pened to  meet  Cudjo  one  day,  and  observed  that  he 
was  trying  to  learn  something,  in  a  playful  manner, 
from  the  school-children.  She  saw  at  once  that  she 
could  have  a  willing  pupil.  She  told  him  to  come  to 
her  school,  under  the  pretext  of  wishing  him  to  do 
some  work ;  there,  after  school  hours,  the  lessons  be- 
gan which  were  to  banish  the  Ethiopian  night  of  Free- 
burg. The  two,  the  African  man  and  the  Caucasian 
woman,  were  alone  together  in  secrecy,  day  after  day 
wrestling  with  Powers  of  Darkness. 

The  conduct  of  Miss  Winslow  in  this  matter  was  not 
strictly  according  to  law,  written  and  unwritten.  The 
established  order  of  the  country,  social  and  political, 
was  against  her,  but  she  secretly  defied  it,  and  went 
ahead.  The  enactment  against  light  and  humanity, 
especially  against  conscience,  she  met  with  her  own 
inner  legislation.  There  was  still  a  party  in  opposi- 
tion, though  it  had  been  recently  defeated  in  Freeburg, 
and  Miss  Winslow  was  forced  at  times  to  hear  its 
voice.  She  would  even  query,  now  and  then,  in  her 
own  heart;   "What  is  going  to  become   of  the  law? 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW's    HISTORY.       245 

Is  it  a  phantom  which  will  disappear?  I  look  upon 
Cudjo  Bell  and  see  it  annihilated ;  he  lives  here  in 
despite  of  it,  and  moves  forward  to  light  against  all 
its  powers     Where  is  it  just  now?" 

VI. 

About  this  time  a  traveler  alighted  at  the  inn  of  the 
village,  and  made  himself  as  comfortable  as  possible 
under  the  circumstances.  He  was  the  second  stranger 
in  Freeburg,  and  showed  a  strong  contrast  with  the 
first  one,  the  pedestrian,  who  still  remained  in  town. 
The  new  man  was  dressed  carefully,  but  not  obtru- 
sively ;  he  was  tall  and  fine-looking ;  his  appearance 
was  that  of  an  educated  man  ;  indeed  he  looked  as  if 
his  fathers  before  him  might  have  been  people  of 
education.  There  was  an  ancestral  air  of  ease  and 
refinement  about  him,  which  plainly  declared  that  he 
did  not  owe  all  of  himself  to  himself.  He  had  a 
certain  reserve  in  his  manner,  though  he  was  always 
courteous ;  he  would  respond  with  candor  to  any 
question,  if  it  did  not  pertain  to  himself.  Personal 
talk  he  shunned ;  it  was  found  to  be  very  hard  to 
penetrate  the  outer  armor  in  which  he  encased  his 
personality. 

There  was  something  settled  in  his  bearing  and 
look  —  something  long-established  and  transmitted; 
whatever  else  he  might  be,  he  was  certainly  not  an  up- 
start. On  the  whole,  he  seemed  satisfied  with  himself 
and  at  peace  with  the  present  state  of  the  world ;  at 
least  he  was  not  going  to  turn  it  upside  down  in 
order  to  improve  it,  and  to  get  himself  into  diflSculty. 


246  THE  FREEBURGEns. 

He  was  sitting  on  an  easy-chair  in  the  doorWay  of 
the  little  inn,  showing  all  the  repose  of  his  philosophy, 
when  with  an  air  of  business  a  black  fellow  entered, 
out  of  whose  coat  pocket  the  edges  of  a  spelling- 
book  peeped  just  far  enough  to  show  the  wish  for  con- 
cealment, yet  to  catch  the  eye  of  the  stranger.  The 
latter,  after  noticing  the  book,  cast  a  sharp  glance  into 
the  black  face,  which,  we  need  hardly  say,  belonged  to 
Cudjo  Bell,  the  sole  African  in  Freebuvg,  who  had 
just  come  from  Miss  Winslow's  lesson,  and  was  now 
doing  one  of  her  little  errands. 

Cudjo  returned  the  man's  glance,  passed  on  some 
yards,  then  stopped  to  reflect  a  few  minutes,  and  came 
back  again.  This  time  the  man  eyed  the  negro  very 
closely,  and  showed  that  he  recognized  him.  Cudjo 
went  up  to  the  stranger,  and  spoke :  — 

"  You  look  like  a  man  I  once  saw  in  old  Virginia." 

The  negro  took  off  his  hat  and  politely  bobbed  his 
pate  up  and  down  ;  the  stranger  replied  in  a  dignified 
but  not  haughty  manner :  — 

*'  Indeed!  I  know  there  are  such  resemblances.  1 
came  from  the  East." 

Cudjo  had  heedlessly  told  on  himself,  and  confirmed 
the  suspicion  of  the  stranger,  who  spoke  with  a 
Southern  accent,  but  seemed  for  the  present  inclined 
to  hide  his  place  of  residence.  He  gave  out  that  he 
was  from  the  East,  a  statement  which,  if  not  exactly 
true,  was  not  exactly  false.  He  apparently  wished, 
for  some  reason,  to  take  a  little  glance  at  Freeburg 
under  cover,  and  to  see  with  his  own  eyes  the  pro- 
gress of  the  Great  West. 

Cudjo  passed  on  and  was  soon  out  of  sight.     The 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE   WINSLOW  S   HISTORY.       247 

man  continued  to  keep  his  easy-chair,  but  seemed 
to  be  studying  with  himself  about  something.  He 
was  not  much  disturbed,  still  there  was  in  him 
enough  oscillation  to  cause  him  to  break  over  the 
dead  point  of  his  philosophic  composure.  He  rose 
from  his  seat,  and  went  upstairs  to  his  room.  There 
he  sat  down  at  a  table  and  began  to  write  a  letter, 
which  was  dated  at  Freeburg  and  ran  as  follows :  — 

My  Dear  Friend  —  I  am  quite  certain  that  I  noticed 
your  black  servant  in  this  town  to-day.  I  first  saw 
him  when  I  visited  you  at  the  Wolds,  on  your  planta- 
tion not  far  from  Richmond.  You  will  recollect  that 
you  then  spoke  of  him  to  me  as  a  negro  of  unbroken 
will,  who  might  at  any  time  take  it  into  his  head  to 
run  away.  Through  our  conversation,  my  attention 
was  particularly  directed  to  his  appearance,  and  I  do 
not  believe  I  am  mistaken.  I  recognized  him  chiefly 
by  a  large  long  scar  on  the  forehead,  which  made  an 
acute  angle  with  the  left  eye. 

Yours,  as  ever, 

Charles  Tournefort. 

It  may  be  stated  that  Mr.  Tournefort  wrote  this  let- 
ter without  scruple,  yet  without  malice.  He  had  no 
ill-will  against  the  negro,  much  less  any  design  of 
gain.  He  did  not  think  of  doing  wrong,  yet  not  of 
doing  right.  It  was  a  spontan£ous  act  of  courtesy,  a 
generous  impulse  to  serve  a  friend,  in  a  case  where  no 
question  of  morals  was  involved.  Mr.  Tournefort 
would  have  resented  the  idea  of  being  a  negro-catcher, 
but  he  was  one,  doubtless  in  spite  of  himself.  He  be- 
lieved that  the  law  had  settled  the  matter,  and  that  his 


248  THIS   PREEBURGERS. 

duty  was  not  only  to  obey  the  law,  but  to  accept  it  as 
the  final  standard  of  right  and  wrong.  To  be  sure,  in 
the  present  case  there  was  no  obligation  upon  him  to 
write  the  letter,  yet  there  was  no  obligation  upon  him 
not  to  write  it. 

But  It  was  written,  and  he  went  out  to  take  it  to  the 
post-office.  As  he  threw  it  down,  a  lady  entered,  and 
seemed  unconsciously  to  cast  her  eye  upon  the  ad- 
dress. Then  she  turned  and  looked  at  Mr.  Tourne- 
fort,  who  received  a  keen  shot  from  her  glance ;  in 
spite  of  himself  he  had  to  twinge  a  little.  He  somehow 
began  to  think  of  what  he  had  done,  but  soon  dismissed 
the  thought  as  unworthy  of  detention.  The  lady  in- 
quired for  her  postal  matter,  received  quite  a  large 
quantity  for  herself  and  for  the  town  library,  then 
hastened  away.  It  was  evident  that  she  had  many 
lines  of  connection  with  the  world  outside  of  the  little 
town. 

Mr.  Tournefort  went  out  upon  the  street  and 
walked ;  he  was  still  somewhat  perturbed,  and  could 
not  regain  the  philosophic  calm  which  was  his  by 
right  of  having  nothing  to  do.  He  passed  by  the 
large  school-house,  surveyed  it  with  care,  wondering 
what  it  was.  He  continued  his  walk;  he  was  not 
aware  of  following  the  lady,  till  she,  giving  a  quick 
turn,  darted  into  a  dwelling,  and  was  lost  to  his  vision. 
He  went  on,  but  soon  turned  round  and  came  back ; 
he  looked  particularly  at  the  house  where  he  saw  the 
lady  enter ;  he  asked  a  passing  citizen  whose  it  was. 
He  gave  a  sudden  jerk  of  surprise,  followed  by  a  gaze 
of  satisfaction,  when  he  heard  the  answer:  — 

**It  is  the  residence  of  Mr.  Herman  Firestone.** 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW*S    HiSTOKY.       249 


vn. 


The  lady  who  had  entered  Mr.  Firestone's  dwelling 
was  Miss  Winslow.  After  the  incidents  following  the 
mysterious  cast  of  the  stone,  she  had  resolved  not  to 
be  seen  going  thither  so  often,  and  for  a  short  time, 
she  had  kept  her  resolution.  Moreover,  there  was 
still  an  under-current  of  gossip  flowing  through  the 
empty  heads  of  the  town,  and  it  might  break  out  to 
the  surface  in  unexpected  places.  This  afternoon, 
however,  she  found  it  absolutely  necessary  to  return 
a  book  which  she  had  borrowed,  and  which  might  be 
needed  in  the  household ;  but  she  was  going  to  stay 
only  one  minute  and  then  hurry  away. 

Aunt  Polly  was  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  when  Miss 
Winslow  was  announced.  She  spoke  to  Trolla,  who 
stood  in  the  back  yard  not  far  away,  and  bade  her  run 
to  the  garden  to  fetch  a  little  bouquet  for  the  school- 
mistress, who  was  very  fond  of  flowers.  But  Trolla' s 
refusal  was  stronger  than  ever  before. 

**  Why,  Trolla,  what  ails  you?  '* 

**  I  cannot.  Aunt  Polly." 

'*  How  it  it  that  you  cannot?'* 

**  The  flowers,"  said  Trolla,  with  a  pale  look  that 
begged  for  mercy,  '*  are  myself,  and  I  cannot  give 
them  to  Miss  Hope." 

Aunt  Polly  reproved  the  child  with  more  than  usual 
severity,  when  the  latter  placed  her  hands  on  her 
breast  and  spoke :  — 

'at  will  kill  me." 

This  conversation,  of  course,  did  not  take  place  in 


250  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

the  presence  of  Miss  Winslow,  who,  however,  had 
now  passed  out  of  the  reception  room,  and  had  joined 
the  little  company  in  the  back  yard.  She  playfully 
ran  after  TroUa,  but  the  latter  was  too  fast  for  her, 
and  scurried  off  through  the  bushes,  which  the  school- 
mistress could  not  penetrate.  There  the  child  hid, 
and  would  not  come  out,  even  for  Aunt  Polly's  re- 
peated calls.  So  long  did  the  little  runaway  remain 
concealed,  that  there  began  to  be  real  alarm  in  the 
household.  Trolla  was  a  strange  child.  Aunt  Polly 
said,  and  nobody  could  tell  what  she  might  do  —  she 
might  even  make  away  with  herself  in  one  of  her  spells. 
A  search  began,  the  leading  person  in  the  search  being 
Miss  Winslow,  who  could  not  suppress  her  strong 
agitation.  "Another  counterstroke  of  my  fiend  in 
this  fateful  spot,"  she  thought  to  herself,  as  she  pushed 
through  the  bushes  in  much  discomfort ;  *'  every  visit 
of  mine  to  this  house  becomes  a  visitation,  and  yet 
I  return.  Let  the  demon  catch  me  when  I  come 
again.** 

She  was  in  an  impatient  mood  ;  Henry  had  nowhere 
appeared,  and  still  she  had  fallen  into  trouble,  with- 
out even  the  satisfaction  of  a  glimpse  of  what  she 
went  for.  She  was  now  in  a  condition  40  write  a 
stinging  satire  upon  herself. 

She  kept  up  her  search  through  many  a  bramble 
and  briar,  till  at  last  she  saw  the  edge  of  a  garment 
hanging  out  from  a  clump  of  bushes  in  a  distant 
corner  of  the  garden.  No  path  led  to  it,  but  IMiss 
Winslow  pushed  herself  to  the  spot  by  main  force, 
and  clutched  the  shred  of  clothing ;  she  pulled  it  with. 


LEAVES  or  Mope  win  slow 's  histohv.     251 

energy,  and  out  came  Trolla,  though  squirming  to  get 
back  into  her  hiding-place.     Miss  Winslow  cried : — 

"  Wh}^  Trolla,  how  can  you  act  in  this  way?'* 

Trolla  still  wriggled,  and  sought  to  free  herself  of 
the  tight  grip  of  the  school-mistress. 

"  Aunt  Polly  has  called  you,  and  you  never  an- 
swered.    We  have  all  been  so  frightened  about  you." 

But  Trolla  still  tried  to  crawl  into  her  bushy  cover, 
exclaiming :  — 

*'  O,  leave  me  here  alone !" 

Miss  Winslow  began  to  relax  her  hold,  and  said 
with  a  touch  of  sorrow :  — 

"  What  have  I  done,  child,  that  you  should  fear  me 
thus?" 

Trolla  was  moved,  and  began  to  desist  from  her 
struggles ;  she  turned  about,  as  if  in  some  effort  of 
self-mastery,  and  looked  into  the  face  of  Miss  Win- 
slow  who  went  on:  "Tell  me,  for  what  have  I  de- 
served this  treatment  at  your  hands?  You  began  it 
long  ago,  and  have  continued  it  till  now,  increasing  in 
bitterness.     Tell  me,  what  have  I  done  to  you?" 

Trolla  tried  no  longer  to  go  back  to  her  hiding- 
place  ;  in  fact,  she  was  now  free  to  go  where  she 
pleased.  She  braced  herself  up  for  her  supreme  exer- 
tion of  strength,  and  then  said :  "  O  Miss  Hope,  you 
must  not  take  Harry  away." 

"Why  do  you  say  that,  foolish  girl?  What  strange 
notion  has  got  into  your  head  about  Harry?  I  shall 
not  take  him  away ;  I  am  going  off  myself  and  leave 
you  alL" 

With  this  answer.  Miss  Winslow  quit  the  child  and 
hurried  through  the  garden ;  she  had  shown  unquea- 


252  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

tionably  certain  signs  of  rising  wrath.  But  she  soon 
took  the  second  thought,  and  began  to  change  to  some- 
thing akin  to  pity  ;  she  had  felt  her  own  pang  in  the 
little  girPs  heart;  she  saw  a  sudden  image  of  herself 
in  the  sorrows  of  a  child,  and  could  not  withhold  her 
sympathy.  She  looked  back  several  times,  but  con- 
tinued to  walk  ahead. 

The  words  of  Trolla  had,  indeed,  cut  home,  through 
every  layer,  thick  and  thin,  of  disguise.  Miss  Win- 
slow  soon  reached  the  house,  where  she  left  word  that 
she  had  found  Trolla  in  the  garden.  She  at  once  ex- 
cused herself  from  staying  longer,  and  passed  out  of 
the  front  door,  as  Trolla  entered  at  the  rear,  with  a 
look  by  no  means  joyous.  She,  too,  had  felt  her  own 
pang  in  the  heart  of  the  school-mistress ;  each  had  dis- 
covered the  other  by  passing  through  a  strange  scale 
of  jealousy,  anger,  pain,  recognition. 

Trolla  received  much  reproof  from  Aunt  Polly  for 
her  behavior  in  this  matter ;  but  she  deigned  to  give 
no  reply  in  regard  to  the  cause  of  her  action.  At 
present,  she  uttered  not  a  syllable  of  complaint 
against  Miss  Winslow,  and  afterwards  she  steadfastly 
maintained  her  silence. 

In  this  mood,  Trolla  went  to  her  room,  and  began 
to  think  over  the  situation.  She  knew  that  Henry  was 
going  to  college,  and  she  was  resigned  to  the  separa- 
tion. She  thought,  too,  of  Miss  Winslow,  and  felt  a 
sympathy  never  experienced  before.  She  looked  at 
the  things  she  had  taken  out  of  the  old  boxes  —  the 
supposed  mementos  of  her  unknown  parents.  She 
thought  of  her  lot,  thought  of  what  she  had  to  en- 
dure; but  did  not  others  have  to  suffer?     She  picked 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOw's    HISTORY.       253 

up  the  crucifix  and  pressed  it  UQConsciously  to  her 
breast.  In  her  pain  she  resolved  to  give  no  more 
pain ;  her  sorrow  had  brought  her  so  early  to  under- 
stand the  sorrows  of  others.  The  child  had  felt  the 
soul-freeing  touch  of  charity, 

VIII. 

Miss  Winslow  felt  that  she  had  received  another 
lesson,  quite  as  impressive  in  certain  respects  as 
the  cast  of  that  stone  of  destiny.  She  had  really 
made  her  recent  visit  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  Henry  ; 
this  she  could  not  deny  to  herself,  though  she  might 
deny  it  to  others.  The  house  of  the  Firestones  had 
again  been  a  trap  into  which  her  secretest  heart  had 
been  enticed  by  a  sweet  hope,  when  it  was  caught  in 
the  act  and  rudely  exposed. 

She  could  not  help  acknowledging  to  herself,  th|it 
she  had  already  begun  to  repent  of  the  advice  she  had 
given  Henry  about  going  to  college ;  she  felt  a  care- 
fully disguised  unwillingness  to  see  him  leave  her 
side.  In  her  special  love,  she  had  lost  a  good  share  of 
her  universal  love,  though  she  still  held  up  to  herself 
her  high  motives.  She  was  almost  ready  to  keep  the 
youth  for  herself  against  his  welfare,  though  she 
was  beginning  to  persuade  herself,  that  it  was  now  his 
welfare  to  remain  at  home.  She  thouaht  she  miorht 
give  him  a  better  training  than  the  college,  whereupon 
her  imagination  started  to  build  a  portentous  air-castle 
of  duty.  Many  were  the  excuses  which  she  made 
against  her  own  reproaches,  many  the  self-defenses 
against  her  own  attacks. 


254  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

But  the  little  word  of  a  child  bad  blown  her  grand 
citadel  of  disguise  to  atoms,  and  her  soul  stood  naked 
before  her  eyes.  She  beheld  herself  under  her  veil, 
and  she  was  startled  at  the  view.  There  is  a  conven- 
tional drapery  with  which  people  cover  the  nude  soul, 
lest  they  see  it  too  plainly  for  comfort.  Miss  Winslow 
tore  away  that  drapery,  it  had  suddenly  become  hate- 
ful to  her ;  she  was  no  longer  to  let  herself  deceive 
herself.  She  exclaimed:  "O  no!  it  cannot  be! 
There  is  the  difference  of  age,  of  circumstances,  of 
temperament!  Then  there  is  Destiny's  hand,  always 
thrusting  itself  in  between  us!     No,  it  cannot  be." 

In  such  moments  the  spirit  looks  backward  through 
life,  to  get  the  line  of  its  career.  Miss  Winslow  be- 
gan to  review  her  past  history:  "Why  should  this 
demon  of  love  haunt  me,  wherever  I  go?  Through 
all  changes  of  place  and  all  transformations  of  mind  it 
pursues  me  and  finds  me.  I  thought  I  left  it  behind 
when  I  quit  my  home  in  New  England.  I  fled  from 
the  habitation  of  my  fathers,  and  crossed  half  a  conti- 
nent to  get  rid  of  it,  but  here  it  comes  after  me,  rising 
up  with  new  fury.  It  curses  me,  it  makes  me  frantic. 
Would  that  my  heart's  blood  once  for  all  might  be 
drunk  by  the  vampyre !  " 

Saying  these  hot  words,  she  went  up  and  down  the 
room  in  agony.  But  with  utterance  came  mitigation, 
and  a  wave  of  reflection  rolled  into  that  tempest  of 
passion.  She  thought:  "  Why  does  this  fiend  pursue 
some  and  not  others?  Why  is  it  impossible  to  escape 
him?  Flee  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  he  is  in  pursuit; 
go  up  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  he  is  there ;  descend 
into  the  depths  of  the  sea,  he  is  there.     I  see  it,  there 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW's    HISTORY.       255 

can  be  but  one  reason :  I  take  him  along,  the  fiend  is 
within  me,  else  he  could  never  be  outside  of  me." 

She  was  turning  back  and  taking  a  peep  at  herself 
and  at  the  world  beneath  all  disguise  and  all  appear- 
ance ;  she  was  finding,  indeed  had  found  the  primitive 
sources.  It  was  but  a  step  to  the  next  conclusion, 
and  she  easily  took  it :  "  Yes,  I  must  think  so ;  it  was 
sent  upon  me  before,  that  I  might  renounce  it.  I  did 
renounce  it,  but  it  comes  again  ;  it  has  taken  up  its  old 
abode  within  me.  Is  another  lesson  needed  ?  Must  I 
renounce  again,  and  still  again?  Is  the  whole  road  of 
ray  life  to  be  lined  on  both  sides  with  these  painful 
crucifixions?  " 

There  could  be  only  one  answer  to  all  these  ques- 
tions ;  in  fact,  they  were  asked  because  they  had  already 
been  answered.  Miss  Winslow  saw  the  necessity 
of  making  a  new  renunciation.  She  was  ready ;  she 
would  give  up  the  beloved  object  and  the  love.  She 
spoke  more  calmly:  "  I  see  this  is  my  pathway,  and  I 
must  walk  in  it ;  I  must  leave  again,  I  must  do  over 
elsewhere  what  I  have  already  done." 

Her  excitement  increased  with  the  thought.  How 
gladly  would  she  have  called  in  a  friend  to  help  her 
through  this  trial !  But  what  friend  could  understand 
her  situation?  Her  battle  had  both  its  contending 
sides  in  the  walls  of  her  heart ;  her  deepest  talk  could 
only  be  to  herself,  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  with  her- 
self. She  paced  her  room  more  rapidly,  she  ran  out 
into  the  air  for  breath ;  the  room  and  the  world  were 
getting  too  close,  and  were  stifling  her.  Under  the 
open  sky,  with  the  stars  above  her,  she  involuntarily 
raised  both  hands  and  cried  out:   "  Here  in  this  pres- 


256  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

ence  I  proclaim  it,  and  bind  my  soul  with  an  oath :  I 
do  renounce.'* 

She  at  once  found  relief.  The  resolution  being  un- 
alterably made,  the  highest  bound  is  leaped  and  the  re- 
action sets  in.  Miss  Winslow  seldom  wept,  never  in 
her  most  painful  moments,  she  had  too  much  forti- 
tude. But  now  the  release  was  felt,  the  tension  re- 
laxed suddenly,  and  the  tears  began  to  fall,  when  the 
reason  for  them  no  longer  existed.  The  thunderbolt 
often  strikes  without  an  accompanying  raindrop  ;  after 
the  clap  the  eased  tempest  spends  itself  in  a  mild 
shower.  Miss  Winslow  went  back  to  her  room,  it  was 
getting  late ;  she  undressed  herself  and  lay  down  upon 
her  bed,  thinking  the  crisis  was  past.  But  somehow 
she  could  not  sleep ;  thoughts  kept  rolling  and  gather- 
ing through  her  mind,  like  clouds  ;  she  soon  saw  signs, 
in  her  spiritual  horizon,  that  another  storm  was  brew- 
ing. 

She  had,  it  is  true,  renounced ;  the  deed  was  sincere 
and  solemn.  But  no  renunciation  is  fruitful,  till  it  be- 
comes active  and  starts  to  sowing  seed.  Merely  to 
give  up  and  be  silent  is  not  enough,  and  may  be  a 
mockery.  Even  to  endure  is  only  a  passivity ;  though 
it  be  beautiful,  it  ends  in  no  result.  There  must  be 
some  actual  doing  in  endurance  itself ,  if  it  be  at  all  en- 
durable. To  hold  out  with  fortitude  under  calamity, 
is  necessary,  but  that  is  only  a  preparation.  It  is 
when  the  unfortunate  moves  forth  to  succor  the  unfor- 
tunate, that  affliction  has  risen  above  endurance  into 
activity,  has  really  risen  above  itself  and  cured  the 
wound  of  its  own  making.  Stoicism  cannot  be  the 
end,  a  savage  indifference  to  pain   cannot  be  the  true 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW's    HISTORY.       257 

philosophy,  which  ought  rather  to  convert  pain  into  a 
double  ministry,  both  unto  ourselves  and  our  fellow- 
man.  Sorrow  finds  our  own  heart,  but  it  must, 
through  the  same  discovery,  find  the  heart  of  others. 
The  transfiguration  of  pain,  in  whatever  form  it  may 
appear,  is  the  divine  part  of  life. 

Some  such  process  was  taking  place  in  Miss  Win- 
slow,  as  she  lay  thinking  ;  the  river  dashed  hither  and 
thither,  with  many  a  current,  eddy,  and  counter-cur- 
rent, but  all  the  stream  was  sweeping  onward,  banks 
full,  toward  the  goal.  The  lost  love  will  bring  the 
death-dealing  pang,  which  must  be  endured,  mid  throes 
and  tears  and  fateful  outcries  ;  but  the  suffering  trains 
and  transfigures  out  of  death  into  life,  that  is,  if  we 
draw  from  it  its  true  discipline.  Behold!  That  un- 
stinted affection  which  goes  out  toward  one  and  only 
one,  has  dashed  against  the  limit  of  its  world,  and  is 
reeling  backwards  in  agony.  Then  behold  again! 
The  transformation  begins ;  the  love  rises  up  from  its 
blow  in  still  vaster,  nay,  in  universal  proportions,  and 
reaches  aloft  to  heaven ;  now  it  goes  out  toward  all, 
and  begins  to  take  on  its  celestial  shape.  Such 
thoughts  as  these  made  Miss  Winslow  spring  from  her 
bed  in  exaltation  of  spirit ;  she  paced  her  room,  trying 
to  compress  their  infinite  meaning  into  poor,  over- 
burdened words. 

Many  years  before  the  present  time,  Miss  Winslow 
had  mastered  her  first  heart-break ;  the  struggle  had 
been  deep  and  long,  but  she  had  taken  its  training  and 
obtained  the  fruition.  Trial  brought  her  into  a  more 
perfect  existence  ;  she  consecrated  herself  to  the  new 
love,  which  after  a  period  of  quiescence,  flamed  up  out 


258  THE   FREEBURGERS, 

of  the  ashes  of  the  old  love.  It  has  already  been  told 
how  she  moved  to  the  West,  and  gave  the  light  of  her 
life  to  the  new  world  there  emerging  out  of  darkness. 
Education  was  the  means,  humanity  was  the  goal,  of 
her  endeavor. 

But  now  she  found  that  she  must  make  the  same 
sacrifice  again.  She  must  leave  Freeburg,  her  first 
seed-field ;  she  had  performed  her  mission.  In  think- 
ing over  these  matters,  she  exclaimed:  "I  feel  my 
work  here  is  done  ;  others  can  take  it  from  my  hands 
and  carry  it  on  —  my  spiritual  sons  and  daughters, 
whom  I  have  reared  in  these  years.  The  oil  of  that 
first  sacrifice  has  burned  out,  I  have  become  selfish 
again,  soon  I  shall  give  no  light.  The  second  sacrifice 
must  be  made,  the  victim  is  chosen,  self-chosen ;  look 
down,  ye  Powers,  I  am  ready." 

She  went  to  the  window  and  threw  it  open ;  she 
gazed  upwards  into  the  starry  canopy  and  felt  a  strange 
congeniality  with  those  eyes  of  eternity.  Again  a  calm 
set  in,  coming  apparently  from  the  spheres  beyond, 
and,  for  a  time  she  sank  away  into  that  vast  celestial 
sea  of  silence  above  her. 

Already  she  had,  in  sober,  retrospective  moments, 
experienced  some  such  presentiment  of  a  work  done ; 
she  had  heard  the  clock  of  her  soul  striking  the  hour 
for  a  fresh  departure.  The  new  trial  of  love  was  but 
an  indication  sent  in  advance,  a  sign-board  set  up  on 
her  life-road  and  pointing  out  the  way.  She  looked 
further  and  drew  the  conclusion,  that  she  had  become 
inharmonious  with  the  present  order  around  her,  that 
she  was  no  longer  internally  fitted  to  remain  in  her  old 
place,  and  that  she  must  go  through  the  second  purify- 


ing  process  or  stay  forever  stunted  in  growth.  She 
brooded  somewhat,  and  examined  herself ;  in  this  con- 
dition, conscience  came  to  the  aid  of  her  new  resolu- 
tion with  a  decisive  power. 

It  thus  became  clearer  and  clearer  to  her  mind  that 
she  must  make  one  more  remove.  She  resolved,  when 
she  had  quietly  settled  her  affairs,  to  proceed  with  the 
grand  wagon  train  of  civilization,  to  pass  beyond  the 
Mississippi,  and  to  reach  out  for  the  frontier  where  she 
might  find  a  new  and  wilder  set  of  nurslings.  There 
was  need  of  her ;  villages  were  everywhere  springing 
up  on  the  border,  like  Freeburg  when  she  found  it. 
But  Freeburg  had  been  left  far  behind,  and  was  grow- 
ing old  in  comparison  with  these  younger  children  of 
the  West.  She  heard  the  call  to  go  and  scatter  the 
seeds  of  light  afresh ;  love  had  opened  her  eyes,  and 
given  new  resolution.  She  had  nursed  her  first  set  of 
spiritual  children ;  they  must  now  be  weaned  and  made 
to  walk  of  themselves.  In  fact  they  could  no  longer 
be  held  back ;  nature  would  force  them  to  throw  off 
the  mother,  and  to  be  independent,  self-acting  indi- 
viduals. 

These  thoughts  bore  her  out  of  her  sorrow,  far  away 
into  a  happy  new  world  of  activity.  She  now  spoke 
with  herself  as  if  wholly  reconciled  to  her  lot:  *'  I  shall 
go  again  to  the  West,  I  shall  do  there  what  I  have 
done  here,  I  shall  do  it  better.  I  shall  implant  another 
generation,  I  shall  train  another  village,  making  it  over 
into  the  image  of  the  true  and  the  good.  I  shall  en- 
dow a  new  community  with  a  conscience  ;  I  shall  trans- 
form its  youth  and  stir  up  its  old  people  with  the  great 
liberating  idea  of  the  time,  so  that  when  the  grand 


260  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

struggle  of  the  ages  arrives,  all  will  be  ready,  in  spirit 
and  in  deed,  to  fall  into  line  and  to  march,  even  to 
fight.  I  look  back  upon  Freeburg,  and  see  what  I  can 
do  once  more  at  least,  and  how  much  I  can  improve 
the  doing  of  it  in  the  light  of  experience.  This  very 
year  the  town  has  declared  by  a  decisive  vote,  what  it 
is  and  what  it  will  perform.  I  am  satisfied,  my  work 
is  done ;  to  stay  here  longer  would  be  a  wasted  life ; 
I  am  going." 

In  these  exalted  moments  Miss  Hope  Winslow  iden- 
tified herself  with  the  great  movement  of  her  people, 
and,  indeed,  of  her  race.  She  became  one,  as  it  were, 
with  the  hidden  spirit  of  the  World,  and  heard  its 
voice  ;  she  seemed  to  have  its  vision,  and  to  speak  its 
speech.  She  beheld  herself  in  imagination  marching  at 
the  head  of  that  great  army  which  has  moved  from 
East  to  West  since  the  earliest  Aryan  migration,  sj^an- 
ning  continents,  overleaping  oceans,  bearing  the  sacred 
fire  to  new  worlds. 

It  was  thus  that  her  head  spoke  and  argued  with 
convincing  clearness ;  but  her  heart,  in  its  turn,  be- 
gan to  say  something  else,  in  fact,  to  enter  a  protest 
against  this  new  plan.  Was  emotion  nothing?  Had 
it  no  right  ?  In  an  age  of  charity  should  it  alone  be 
crushed  without  mercy?  The  reaction,  however,  was 
not  of  long  duration ;  she  was  a  well-schooled  school- 
mistress. After  her  purpose  was  formed,  feelings 
surged  and  dashed  around  it ;  passion  lightened  and 
thundered,  filling  her  heaven  with  a  furious  tumult ; 
for  a  moment  she  seemed  compelled  to  take  refuge 
from  the  storm  in  her  breast  by  running  away  from  her 
resolution.     But    the  ocean-tossed  ship   of   duty   re- 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WIXSLOw's    HISTORY.       261 

mained  staunch  to  the  end,  and  conscience  clung  to 
the  rudder. 

Her  strugorle  was  now  over ;  she  could  look  back 
upon  it  and  exclaim:  ''Defeat  maybe  transformed 
into  a  stepping-stone  to  the  higher  victory.  It  is  love, 
impossible  love,  which  fills  cloisters,  clears  the  wilder- 
ness, illumines  the  earth,  peoples  heaven ;  it  drives 
the  thwarted  human  soul  to  renunciation,  and  thus 
saves  that  soul  through  an  universal  activity  ;  it  gives 
up  self,  and  thereby  attains  supreme  selfhood,  that  of 
very  Providence." 

To  renounce  the  personal  fruition  of  love,  and  yet 
to  preserve  its  flame  in  the  total  conduct  of  life  — 
such  was  the  height  which  Miss  Winslow  now  had 
reached.  Through  her  countenance,  made  transpar- 
ent by  self-sacrifice,  shone  the  light  within,  which  the 
understanding  searches  after  in  vain.  Once  more  she 
had  taken  the  vow  and  become  a  nun ;  but  the  vow 
was  her  own,  spoken  to  her  own  soul,  and  she  lived  in 
the  cloister  whose  walls  she  had  built  herself.  It  was 
already  far  toward  morning,  a  glint  of  dawn  shot 
through  the  eastern  sky  ;  she  rose  from  her  seat  on  the 
bed,  the  chains  fell  off,  she  was  free. 

When,  after  long  doubt  and  struggle,  the  gleam 
comes  at  last,  and  with  it  the  new  consecration,  the 
world  changes  on  the  spot.  Before  this  moment, 
the  circumstances  of  daily  life  counteracted  and 
often  overwhelmed  Miss  Winslow ;  they  were  her 
crushing  fate.  But  now  these  same  circumstances 
were  converted  into  the  means  for  carrying  out  her 
end.  Love  itself  may  be  the  destroj^-er,  may  sweep 
down  upon  its  victim  like  an  avenging  Fury  and  make 


262  THE'FREEBURGERS. 

him  tragic.  But  it  may  also  be  not  only  the  source  of 
existence,  but  the  great  upholder,  nay  the  very  instru- 
ment of  man's  freedom.  The  outside  has  a  corre- 
spondence with  the  inside ;  nobody  can  hear  the  voice 
of  the  divinity,  till  the  divine  be  within  him.  Life 
had  become  for  Miss  Winslow  a  lofty  Jacob's  ladder 
whose  steps  reached  to  heaven,  towards  which  she 
was  climbing,  as  she  dropped  out  of  her  thoughts  into 
sleep. 

Her  dream  continued  her  new  plan,  and  filled  it  with 
the  happy  consummation,  weaving  round  it  capri- 
ciously a  frame- work  of  many  figures  and  flowers,  that 
curled  over  in  multitudinous  caresses  and  embraced  the 
one  unchanging  picture.  When  she  woke,  she  had  re- 
turned from  a  pleasant  journe}^  without  any  of  the 
incumbrances  or  vexations  of  travel ;  she  had  gone  far 
over  blooming  prairies  and  crossed  an  enormous  turbid 
stream,  and  settled  in  a  great  plain  filled  with  cities, 
where  she  dwelt  a  million  of  years. 

The  sun  was  high,  and  shone  in  full  splendor  into 
her  room ;  she  sprang  out  of  bed  into  light  and  life  once 
more ;  it  seemed  another  birth,  verily  she  was  another 
person.  She  said  to  herself,  in  the  consciouness  of 
her  destiny ;  *'  Now  I  have  to  make  this  trip  of  fancy 
real.  Many  a  hint  it  has  thrown  out  before  me  for  my 
guidance  ;  many  ages  of  futurity  I  passed  through  in 
a  second,  till  eternity  seemed  to  have  lost  its  duration. 
I  see  that  life  sweeps  round  the  heaven-high  column  of 
Time  in  cycles ;  here  within  me  now  begins  a  fresh 
cycle.  I  appear  to  be  going  over  a  road  which  I  have 
already  traveled,  yet  under  very  different  conditions  ; 
I  am  living  a  former  life  once  more,  I  am  making  an 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW'S    HISTORY.        263 

old  journey  into  a  new  one,  and  I,  the  person,  am  re- 
newed. Yesterday  was  crucifixion  and  death,  to-day 
is  life  and  resurrection." 


IX. 

So  complete  was  Miss  Winslow*s  victory  over  her- 
self, that  she  felt  a  permanent  mastery ;  she  resolved, 
while  she  remained  in  the  village,  to  make  no  inter- 
ruption in  her  visits  to  the  house  of  the  Firestones. 
She  knew  that  she  must  not  run  away  from  her  own 
weakness,  but  grapple  it  at  the  point  of  its  own  advan- 
tage ;  the  final  victory  over  passion  is  obtained,  not  by 
fleeing  from  it,  but  by  putting  it  down  in  its  very 
stronghold.  With  such  a  resolution  in  her  heart,  she 
felt  that  she  could  assume  a  new  relation  toward  every- 
body in  the  family. 

She  went  the  next  day,  and,  as  soon  as  she  entered 
the  house,  Trolla  appeared  alone,  with  a  bunch  of 
roses  in  her  hand.  She  sank  down  before  the  school- 
mistress, and,  with  a  look  of  reconciliation,  offered  the 
flowers.  Trolla  spoke  not  a  word,  her  floral  emblem 
was  her  declaration,  more  significant  than  speech. 

Miss  Winslow  caught  the  child  in  her  arms,  and  re- 
ceived the  token  with  manifest  emotion.  Trolla  did 
net  now  try  to  wriggle  out  of  her  embrace,  but  seemed 
contented  to  rest  there,  for  a  time  at  least ;  the  child 
evidently  tried  to  make  good  all  that  it  had  previously 
done  to  annoy  Miss  Winslow.  Both  their  spirits  had 
undergone  a  change ;  they  had  been  marvelously 
brought  into  harmony, 

Trolla  held  carefully  in  her  hand  the  crucifix,  which 


264  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

she  had  found  in  her  search  among  the  old  boxes ;  she 
often  carried  it  with  her,  it  was  growing  more  and 
more  into  the  living  fact  of  her  soul.  Still,  she  sought 
at  present  to  conceal  it,  but  Miss  Winslow  noticed  it 
and  asked :  — 

'*  What  do  you  do  with  that?  " 

"  I  keep  it  and  look  at  it." 

"  What  does  it  mean  to  you?'* 

"  I  never  ask  myself." 

Miss  Winslow  looked  at  it  intently,  and  examined 
the  inscription.  After  some  moments  of  silence,  she 
asked :  — 

"Whose  is  it?" 

''  I  do  not  know,"  said  Trolla,  who  then  told  where 
she  had  found  it.  Miss  Winslow  was  much  interested 
in  the  story;  she  continued  to  gaze  upon  the  object 
with  a  strange  touch  of  sympathy.  Such  a  feeling  she 
had  never  known  before  ;  it  seemed  to  become  suddenly 
a  part  of  her  life,  and  to  speak  to  her  much  that  was 
previously  unspoken.  She  again  remained  silent  for 
a  time,  but  finally  woke  out  of  her  musing  and 
asked :  — 

"  Who  is  that  upon  the  cross?  " 

Trolla  looked  at  her  for  a  minute  with  a  great,  open- 
eyed  glance,  which  seemed  to  reveal  both  the  seeing 
and  the  seen,  and  then  answered:  — 

"  I  think  it  looks  like  you." 

Footsteps  were  heard  approaching.  Aunt  Polly  en- 
teied  the  room.  The  latter  was  not  in  her  usual 
buoyant  spirits ;  she  had  an  air  of  anxiety,  which  at 
once  found  expression  in  this  question :  — 

"Do  you  not  think  that  Trolla  looks  ill?" 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW'S    HISTORY.       265 

Miss  "Winslow  replied:  "She  is  not  in  her  usual 
color?  " 

Both  directed  a  glance  of  investigation  towards 
Trolla,  who  leaned  against  a  small  table,  and  appeared 
pale  and  thin  ;  every  now  and  then  she  gave  a  deep 
cough.  Aunt  Polly  turned  to  one  side  to  get  rid  of  an 
unexpected  tear,  then,  controlling  herself,  assumed  an 
unwilling  smile,  and  said :  — 

"Let  us  not  talk  of  that." 

There  had  been  in  the  household  too  much  conver- 
sation about  Trolla's  illness  in  the  hearing  of  the  little 
sufferer.  Aunt  Polly's  good  sense  had  tried  to  stop 
it,  though  she  sometimes,  in  the  fullness  of  her  heart, 
could  not  help  violating  her  own  principle.  Too  often 
Trolla  had  been  asked  about  her  health,  and  about  her 
origin.  She  had  become  brooding  and  introspective, 
and  her  mind  seemed  to  nurse  her  bodily  ailment  into 
deep-seated  disease. 

Aunt  Polly  now  said :  "  Sing  for  Miss  Winslow  the 
little  song  you  have  put  together." 

The  old  lady  supposed  that  Trolla  would  sing  that 
former  song  of  the  flowers,  which  had  excited  so  much 
surprise  in  the  family.  In  fact.  Aunt  Polly  did  not 
know  that  Trolla  had  any  other  complete  song  of 
several  verses.  Great  was  her  astonishment  when  the 
latter  lightened  up  with  a  vivid  gleam  in  her  eye,  and 
began  a  wholly  now  song.  It  showed  the  heart  of 
the  little  singer  beating  with  an  unsatisfied  longing ; 
it  showed,  too,  the  thoughts  which  occupied  her  mind, 
and  which  were  consuming  her  life  at  its  sources. 
Her  look    and    tone  were  long  remembered  by  those 


266  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

who  heard  her  s^.ng,  as  revealiDg  that  higher  expres- 
sion, which  carries  words  beyond  the  meaning  of 
words. 

Miss  Winslow  listened  with  the  deepest  sympathy, 
and  the  cup  of  reconciliation  was  filled  to  overflowing 
in  those  two  natures,  which  had  before  so  often  shown 
themselves  antipathetic.  They  had,  indeed,  felt  a 
common  bond  ;  it  was  love,  love  unfulfilled,  and  there- 
in transformed  into  a  new  consecration  of  itself.  Tliey 
had  shown  to  each  other  the  common  pang,  and  both 
from  that  hour  knew  charity. 

But  of  this  feeling,  the  one  most  deeply  hidden  in 
their  hearts,  neither  would  spealj.  Miss  Winslow 
sought  to  give  consolation  in  another  matter,  which, 
she  preceived  deeply  affected  TroUa:  "My  dear 
child,  "  she  cried,  "  I  too  have  lost  my  parents,  I 
am  an  orphan.  But  my  poor  father!  he  may  not 
be  dead,  though  I  fear  it ;  he  may  still  be  a  homeless 
wanderer  over  the  land,  in  strange  fulfillment  of  his 
lot." 

Trolla  gave  a  grateful  look  for  the  sympathy,  but 
made  no  reply.  The  two  cases  were,  indeed,  widely 
different,  but  they  showed  the  common  blow  wliichall 
mortals  must  take  in  one  way  or  another.  Trolla, 
though  becoming  more  and  more  feeble  as  the  days 
passed,  seemed  to  feel  an  increased  need  of  musical 
utterance.  Apparently  her  body  was  vanishing  into  a 
voice.  After  she  had  taken  a  little  rest,  she  began  to 
sing  her  new  song  again,  it  gave  her  comfort,  it  re- 
lieved her  heart.  It  was  her  soul's  response  to  all 
questions  about   her  health,  her  people  and  herself. 


LEAVES    OF    HOPE    WINSLOW*S  'HISTORY.       267 

It  seemed  to  be  made  up  of  broken  gleams  out  of  her 
inner  life. 

0  ask  me  not  if  I  am  well, 
I  know  not  how  I  do; 

How  gladly  would  I  to  thee  tell, 
If  what  lam  I  knew. 

Who  father  was  and  who  was  mother, 

I  often  pray  to  know; 
To  see  if  I  can  find  a  brother, 

Beyond  I  long  to  go. 

But  where  they  are,  I  cannot  say, 
I  know  not  whence  I  came; 

1  know  the  God  to  whom  I  pray, 
But  know  not  my  own  name. 

So  young,  and  yet  I  am  so  old, 

The  evening  is  my  morn; 
I  go  down  to  the  silent  fold  — 

Let  me  again  be  born. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTH. 


ON  ANCE8TBAL  LINES. 
I. 

For  some  time  an  uncle  from  Virginia  had  been  ex- 
pected to  pay  his  first  visit  to  the  Firestone  family. 
This  uncle  had  always  kept  up  the  habit  of  correspond- 
ing with  the  children  of  the  household  after  the  death 
of  their  -mother,  who  was  his  sister.  He  took  a  kindly 
interest  in  his  nephews  and  nieces,  who  lived  far  away 
in  the  West,  and  through  his  liberality  he  had  im- 
pressed upon  their  minds  a  lofty  notion  both  of  his 
wealth  and  his  goodness.  The  rich,  unmarried  uncle 
was  the  very  jewel  in  the  golden  ring  of  kindred,  and 
always  sparkled  dazzlingly  in  the  bright  conversation 
round  the  hearth-stone.  Henry  went  down  to  the  inn 
to  see  if  he  had  arrived  by  stage,  but  could  find  no  trace 
of  him.  While  the  youth  was  peering  through  the 
door  and  inquiring,  another  person,  who  was  lolling 
in  an  arm-chair  at  complete  ease,  caught  his  attention. 
It  was  the  pedestrian,  whom  he  had  already  seen  a 
number  of  times,  and  had  heard  talk  once  in  thunder- 
bolts which  smote  him  dumb. 

There  is  no  denying  the  fact,  that  when  Henry  be- 
held this  marvelous  being  he  forgot  all  about  the  kind. 


ON   ANCESTRAL    LINES.  269 

wealthy  uncle.  He  approached  and  sought  to  entice 
some  more  words  from  that  miraculous  mouth,  but  it 
was  now  filled  with  a  large  meerschaum  pipe,  which 
hung  out  of  his  lips,  bent  round  his  chin,  and  rested 
with  great  gravity  upon  his  stomach.  The  man  was 
washed,  and  combed,  and  sleeked  up  a  little  every- 
where about  himself ;  still  there  was  a  wildness  in  the 
look  that  sprang  out  of  him  ;  there  was  in  him  an  un- 
tamed spirit,  which,  if  it  attracted,  also  repelled,  and 
even  terrified.  He  sat  with  his  feet  raised  to  a  level 
with  his  head  and  perched  upon  a  table  before  him, 
while  he  drew  very  deliberate  puffs  from  the  pipe 
which  scattered  through  the  room  the  venerable  odor 
of  long  service.  He  exerted  a  strange  fascination 
over  Henry ;  indeed,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  some 
secret  aflfinity  had  made  itself  felt  between  them.  The 
hidden  chain  that  united  their  spirits  was  not  now  dis- 
coverable ;  still  it  was  moving  and  slowly  pulling  them 
together,  being  drawn  by  its  unseen  but  irresistible 
windlass.  The  youth  circled  several  times  round  the 
chair  in  which  the  man  was  sitting,  till  the  little  gleam- 
ing eyes  rushed  out  of  their  lair  and  seized  him  in 
their  glance  of  fascination. 

"  Well,  young  man,  what  do  you  think  of  the  con- 
flict to-day  ?  Does  it  show  signs  of  settling  down  into 
quiet?  " 

Henry  drew  near  and  replied :  "I  have  pondered 
your  words  a  good  deal ;  they  have  at  least  left  an  im- 
pression." 

"You  will  still  have  occasion  to  ruminate  upon 
them,  if  all  indications  do  not  fail." 

Both  stopped  a  moment,  and  the  pedestrian  took  a 


270  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

slow  puff  from  his  pipe.  Henry  said  pensively: 
"Something,  I  feel,  is  going  to  happen — something 
great  and  terrible.'* 

"I  should  not  wonder,"  said  the  pedestrian,  now 
drawing  a  few  lively  breaths  through  his  meerschaum, 
which  threatened  to  go  out.  He  then  settled  back, 
and  drove  through  his  lips  a  long,  horizontal  column 
of  smoke,  followed  by  words  which  seemed  to  the 
young  man  to  be  on  fire :  "  The  volcano  is  now  smoth- 
ering, thundering,  smoking  ;  soon  the  lava  will  begin 
to  flow  over  the  sides  red-hot."  Again  he  puffed  forth 
a  long  white  line  from  his  mouth,  as  if  in  imitation  of 
a  crater  in  eruption.  His  lips  curled  in  a  smile  at  his 
own  symbolic  act,  which  he  repeated  several  times, 
looking  at  his  own  smoke  with  amusement.  He  then 
laid  down  his  pipe  on  the  table,  cleared  his  throat, 
threw  back  his  head,  and  shook  his  locks,  saying  with 
eyes  turned  slightly  upwards:  "The  Time-Spirit  is 
beginning  to  show  his  mighty  hand  out  of  the  clouds 
of  circumstance."  He  was  again  talking  to  himself 
more  than  to  the  person  beside  him,  as  was  his  habit. 
After  a  pause  he  uttered  another  reflection:  "The 
greatest  act  in  the  World's  History  is  preparing." 

These  words  were  spoken  with  much  gravity,  as  well 
as  with  a  certain  introversion.  They  made  a  strong 
impression  upon  Henry,  who  noticed  again  the  foreign 
accent  which  fell  upon  certain  words  specially,  and 
even  upon  certain  thoughts ;  these  thoughts,  appar- 
ently, could  not  be  expressed  in  English  without 
showing  a  tinge  of  dialect  which  was  not  native. 
Again  the  stranger  began,  after  changing  his  posi- 
tion :  — 


ON   ANCESTRAL    LINES.  271 

*'  Young  man,  you  were  born  at  the  right  moment. 
You  are  swinging  on  the  great  hinge  of  History. 
You  are  carried,  swaddled  up  in  events,  like  a  babe, 
around  the  turning-point  of  Time."  He  drew  down 
his  large  features  into  a  serio-comic  look,  his  mon- 
strous nose  gradually  sharpened  and  hooked  over,  he 
both  startled  and  mystified,  and  then  showed  delight 
in  the  shudder  and  the  mystery  he  inspired.  Yet  his 
words  and  his  manner  were  not  purely  a  caprice,  they 
came  as  if  authorized  by  the  spirit  of  the  thing  of 
which  he  spoke. 

''I  say,"  he  continued,  "  the  grand  conflict  of  ages 
is  in  you,  in  this  town,  in  us  all,  and  there  is  no  escap- 
ing it.  We  shall  have  to  let  blood.  Civilization  is  a 
bold  surgeon  with  a  sharp  knife,  and  he  lias  no  hesita- 
tion to  cut  when  the  time  is  sick."  Henry  noticed 
a  peculiar  change  in  that  big  face,  out  of  which  shot 
two  small  intense  eyes.  The  man  seemed  with  these 
last  words,  to  take  on  the  aspect  of  a  North  American 
Indian,  showing  the  wild  look  of  the  woods.  He 
was  aware  that  he  scared  and  confounded  the  youth, 
yet  he  had  his  little  chuckle  in  being  able  to  inspire 
some  terror  and  confusion. 

Meanwhile  the  second  stranger  had  entered  the  inn, 
and  had  taken  a  seat  not  far  from  the  two  who  were 
engaged  in  conversation.  He  caught  some  words 
which  excited  his  interest,  and  he  began  to  listen  in  a 
clandestine  way,  to  the  talk.  As  he  looked  into  the 
face  of  the  youth,  he  wondered;  he  thought  he  saw 
some  features  which  seemed  familiar.  For  the  pedes- 
trian he  felt  at  first  a  strong  repulsion,  which,  how- 
ever, contained  a  sort  of  weird  fascination ;  the  two 


272  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

were  so  opposite  that  they  had  to  come  together. 
B.ut  the  stranger  kept  aloof  for  the  present,  and  in- 
clined his  head  to  listen  politely  yet  furtively. 

Henry  at  last  summoned  his  courage  afresh,  and 
spoke  to  the  pedestrian :  — 

*'  May  I  inquire  of  what  country  you  are?  " 

*'That  is  not  so  easy  to  tell,  I  hardly  know  myself. 
I  was  born  in  Europe.  I  have  lived  on  the  frontier, 
at  the  foot  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  face  to  face  with 
ferocious  nature  and  ferocious  man.  Some  people 
think  I  carry  both  with  me,  wherever  I  go."  He 
took  down  his  feet  from  the  table,  drew  himself  up  in 
his  chair,  reached  out  his  long  arm,  and  gave  a  full 
semi-circular  sweep  with  it  over  his  head,  saying :  "I 
bestride  two  continents ;  I  am  a  child  of  the  old 
world,  yet  I  roam  the  plains  and  forests  of  the  new ; 
this  earth  is  getting  too  small  for  me." 

The  man  brought  down  his  hand  and  finished  the 
sweep ;  Henry  unconsciously  dodged,  not  so  much  at 
the  blow  as  at  the  thought.  He  was  indeed  puzzled  ; 
there  was  an  authority  in  what  the  man  uttered,  that 
he  had  never  felt  before ;  it  was  not  a  mere  opinion,  it 
was  not  a  repetition  of  something  which  another  person 
had  said ;  it  was  original,  it  came  from  the  primitive 
sources.  Every  word  was  at  first  hand,  nothing  at 
second  hand  ;  even  the  trite  thought  became  strangely 
new  in  passing  through  his  utterance.  Yet  he  was  rude, 
uncouth  ;  he  seemed  in  part  a  savage.  The  extremes  of 
civilization  and  barbarism  met  in  him ;  the  culture  of 
Europe  and  the  untamed  nature  of  America  were 
married  in  him  and  were  keeping  house.     The  pair 


i 


ON    ANCESTRAL    LINES.  273 

often  quarreled  and  separated,  but  they  always  made 
up  again  and  kissed. 

The  man  ceased  smoking,  he  knocked  the  ashes 
and  tobacco  out  of  the  bowl  of  his  pipe  upon  the  palm 
of  his  hand ;  he  stood  up  from  his  chair,  and  straight- 
ened out  very  tall ;  to  Henry  he  seemed  for  a  moment 
to  rise  to  the  clouds  like  a  mountain.  He  strode  out 
of  the  door.  Henry  followed,  as  if  by  charm ;  the 
.man  turned  about,  and,  when  he  saw  the  youth  still 
hovering  timidly  near  him,  he  spoke  in  a  very  cordial 
tone:  "  Let  us  take  a  walk."  They  continued  to  go 
together,  with  an  occasional  word,  till  they  came 
before  the  Firestone  dwelling. 

Henry  asked  him  to  come  in,  saying :  "I  would  like 
to  show  you  a  book  of  ours.  It  came  from  abroad  too, 
Uke  yourself ;  but  we  know  little  else  about  it.  We 
are  curious  to  find  out  its  mystery ;  perhaps  you  who 
have  told  us  so  much,  can  tell  us  something  about  its 
contents  and  character." 

"Very  well,"  said  the  man,  "I  shall  be  glad  to 
go  in  with  you.  But  I  shall  give  you  now  my 
opinion.  Books  usually  do  not  amount  to  much ; 
they  are  mostly  new  dilutions  of  the  primal  fountain 
of  the  soul,  very  insipid  to  my  taste.  I  love  to  read 
directly  out  of  the  book  of  life,  but  most  people,  I  find 
cannot  learn  its  alphabet.  Events  are,  too,  letters 
printed  upon  the  scroll  of  time,  as  it  unrolls ;  these 
letters  put  together  aright  form  words,  which  the  wise 
alone  can  understand  in  all  ages.  When  translated 
into  books  the  meaning  seems  very  inadequate ;  only 
the   primordial   spoken  word,  quaffed   directly   from 


18 


274  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

this  first  source,  can  convey  the  sense.  I  tell  you  I 
do  not  read  books." 

*' Well,  you  ma}^  find  this  book  as  unwilling  to  be 
read,  as  you  are  unwilling  to  read  it,"  replied  Henry. 

By  this  time  they  had  entered  the  house  and  reached 
the  book-case.  When  the  stranger  came  into  the 
sitting-room,  where  the  family  had  their  common  life, 
he  looked  around  him  with  manifest  pleasure ;  nay, 
he  had  a  glance  of  recognition  as  if  he  had 
met  an  old  friend.  The  ancient  clock  still  tick- 
ing off  the  years,  and  certain  pieces  of  antiquated  fur- 
niture he  looked  at  curiously.  He  sat  down  in  an 
ancestral  chair,  kept  as  an  heir-loom,  as  if  he  were  at 
home.  The  spirit  of  the  hearth  he  saluted  on  familiar 
terms,  and  ere  he  knew  it,  he  spake  out:  "I  have 
been  here  before." 

Henry  heard  him  speak,  but  did  not  understand  what 
he  said,  and  inquired  "I  beg  pardon,  what  did  you 
say?" 

The  man  avoided  an  answer,  but  said,  "  Let  me 
see  your  book."  Henry  handed  him  an  old  volume, 
which  he  took  and  whose  leaves  he  turned  over  care- 
lessly. 

**  Can  you  read  the  print?  "  asked  Henry. 

*'  No,  I  cannot,"  replied  the  man  with  apparent 
indifference. 

*'Then  there  is  something  which  you  do  not 
know." 

*'Yes,  I  suppose  so.  Probably  it  is  not  worth 
knowing." 

"  But  do  you  not  chafe  at  the  restraint  which  igno- 
rance puts  upon  you?  " 


I 


ON    ANCESTRAL    LINES.  275 

At  this  question  of  Henry's  the  man  looked  a  little 
vexed.  But  he  curled  the  lip  and  still  affected  indif- 
ference. Henry  continued  his  questioning:  "Have 
you  no  desire  to  remove  this  boundary  of  your  world? 
I  confess,  it  is  my  strongest  aspiration." 

The  youth  saw  the  shadows  playing  across  the  face 
of  the  man,  but  hardly  was  aware  of  the  internal 
struggle  which  he  was  calling  up  in  the  breast  of  his 
visitor.  With  a  kind  of  violence  toward  himself, 
which  found  expression  in  loud  speech,  the  man  cried 
out:  "Away  with  your  musty  learning!  What  is 
there  in  it?  Nothing  but  the  dung  of  time,  manuring  a 
little  only  the  most  barren  brains!"  As  he  somewhat 
contemptuously  shut  the  book,  the  front  lid  fell  open, 
and  a  manuscript,  which  had  been  fastened  before  the 
title-page,  la}-  exposed  to  view.  This  was  the  strange 
handwriting  which  Henry  could  not  decipher,  and  over 
whose  meaning  he  had  indulged  in  so  many  dreams. 
The  man  grasped  for  the  written  leaves,  his  face  kin- 
dled, and  he  began  to  read  as  if  he  understood  the 
manuscript.  He  exclaimed  :  "  Why,  what  is  this?  " 
Henry  responded:  "  I  do  not  know,  it  has  always 
been  there.  You  seem  to  be  reading  it,  tell  me,  what 
kind  of  writing  is  it?  " 

"It  is  written  in  German,  and  has  the  old  style  of 
letters." 

"  Do  you  know  whence  it  came?  "  asked  the  youth 

eagerly. 

"It  is  dated  in  my  native  village  in  the  old 
country." 

"  Who  could  have  written  it?  " 


276  THE    FREEBURGEKS. 

The  man  turned  the  leaves  over,  and  soon  replied : — 

"  I  do  not  yet  know,  but  it  speaks  of  a  Major  Von 
Feuerstein,  who  was  an  officer  in  the  Thirty  Years' 
War,  and  fought  under  Gustavus  Adolphus." 

"  I  recollect  that  war  from  our  study  of  history 
under  Miss  Winslow,"  said  Henry.  "  It  was  a  relig- 
ious war ;  she  especially  dwelt  upon  the  great  conflict 
of  it,  which  lay  between  the  right  of  conscience,  rep- 
resented by  the  Protestants,  and  the  right  of  authority 
represented  by  the  Romanists." 

"And  who  is  Miss  Winslow,"  asked  the  pedestrian, 
looking  up  with  interest. 

"  She  is  our  school-mistress." 

*'  Yes,  1  see  now ;  I  have  met  her  traces  in  this  vil- 
lage before.  Indeed !  That  is  what  she  read  to  you 
out  of  that  famous  war,  is  it?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  Henry,  '*And  then  she  made 
some  applications." 

* 'Applications  to  what?  " 

''To  the  present." 

"The  Devil  you  say,"  bi'  _.ed  out  the  stranger. 
He  would  drop  an  oath,  by  the  way,  to  point  his  sur- 
prise, or  to  touch  up  the  emphasis,  when  ordinary 
speech  drooped  in  weakness.  "And  she  has  been 
teaching  here  a  good  many  yta.'S?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You  tell  me  an  important  fact  of  this  community. 
But  let  us  return  to  our  manuscript." 

The  man  again  began  to  read,  and  thumb  the  leaves, 
mumbling  strange,  unintelligible  words,  which  Henry 
did   not  try  to   catch.     His  interest  grew  with  each 


ON   ANCESTRAL   LINES.  277 

page.  At  last  be  said:  "It  is  a  kind  of  biography, 
written,  I  should  judge,  by  a  son  or  grandson.  This 
Major  was  a  courageous  fighter  for  his  faith.  He  was 
also,  as  I  see  here,  in  the  very  last  year  of  the  war  with 
the  famous  General  Koenigsmark,  and  was  present  at 
the  taking  of  Prague,  the  last  important  feat  of  arms 
before  the  peace  of  Westphalia." 

*'That  peace  which  secured,  for  certain  portions  of 
Germany,  freedom  of  worship,  and  with  it  the  right  of 
conscience,'*  said  Henry,  showing  himself  again  the 
apt  school-boy  of  Miss  Winslow. 

The  stranger  continued  to  read  with  great  and  in- 
creasing absorption.  He  dropped  the  conversation; 
Henry  stood  a  while  in  silence,  and  then  made  a  motion 
as  if  he  intended  to  go  out.  The  man  rose  and 
asked :  — 

''  Will  you  loan  me  this  manuscript  and  book  for  a 
day  or  two?     You  shall  have  them  back  again." 

Henry  hesitated,  tried  to  turn  the  conversation  into 
another  channel,  for  he  was  now  more  curious  than 
ever  about  the  book.  But  he  was  too  full  of  his  own 
thoughts  to  disguise  his  wish.  He  soon  asked :  * '  Why 
do  you  want  it?  " 

"  I  cannot  now  tell  you ;  but  it  has  a  line  of  con- 
nection with  me  too.  What  you  and  I  have  felt  be- 
tween us  may  here  find  its  remote  cause." 

Henry  stared  at  the  marvelous  man,  who  now  looked 
at  him  steadil}^,  saying:  "I  have  as  yet  refrained 
from  asking  you  questions  about  yourself.  I  shall 
put  one  to  you  at  this  time:     What  is  your  name?" 

"  My  name  is  Henry  Firestone." 

It  was  the  man's  turn  to  be  astonished,  and  his  as- 


278  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

tonishment  again  broke  out  into  a  little  oath,  which 
need  not  be  repeated.  He  drew  himself  up  into  his 
lofty  manner,  and  began,  showing  a  much  stronger 
tinge  of  Germanism  in  his  speech  than  usual :  — 

"Youth,  this  is  the  writing  of  thy  European  an- 
cestor. By  a  strange  destiny  it  has  strayed  over  the 
world,  till  at  last  it  falls  into  my  hands,  not  without 
purpose.  I  must  see  its  contents;  in  due  season  I 
shall  speak  of  it  with  thee  further.  But  I  tell  thee 
here,  thou  must  learn  to  read  it  thyself.  What  it 
says,  can  be  truly  imparted  only  by  its  own  tongue. 
The  speech,  lost  by  thy  people  —  the  old  speech  of 
thy  fathers  —  thou  must  recover,  if  thou  wouldst  truly 
find  thyself.  A  man  is  what  his  ancestors  are,  or, 
more  truly  said,  what  his  race  is.  Hast  thou  never 
heard  that  old  Teutonic  legend  of  Sigfrid,  who  could 
have  no  rest  till  he  had  found  out  his  origin,  though 
he  had  to  endure  every  kind  of  trial  and  hardship  in 
the  search?  Thou,  too,  art  a  young  Sigfrid  trans- 
planted to  another  continent,  far  away  from  the 
beautiful  Rhine  and  old  Nifland.'* 

"But  will  you  not  read  it  to  me  now?"  asked 
Henry  eagerly. 

"It  would  be  at  present  foolish,  quite  useless," 
said  the  man,  "  to  tell  thee  what  is  here  written.  The 
main  thing  is  for  thee  to  find  it  out  thyself.  But  so 
much  may  be  told :  thou  must  now  be  here  in  America 
all  that  thy  forefathers  were  in  the  old  land  —  soldier, 
scholar,  statesman  —  in  a  small  way  or  large,  accord- 
ing to  the  stuff  that  is  in  thee." 

The  man  continued  to  turn  the  leaves  and  to  take 
passing  glances,  as  if   he  might  be  trying  to  pry  into 


ON    ANCESTRAL    LINES.  279 

the  Book  of  the  Past  and  Future.  Henry  also  strained 
his  eyes  for  a  peep,  but  had  no  vision  for  the  message. 
But  his  soul  was  stretched  to  its  farthest  bound,  he 
crossed  the  Atlantic  to  the  home  of  his  people.  The 
old  singer  had  set  his  thoughts  going  in  a  different 
direction,  yet  toward  what  had  been  ;  the  stranger  had 
driven  them  still  further  backward.  The  youth  cried 
out,  "  Am  I,  then,  a  child  of  that  old  world?  '* 

The  man  answered  in  his  familiar  tone,  and  quite 
resumed  the  English  accent  in  his  speech :  — 

"Undoubtedly.  The  name  of  the  country  and  of 
the  very  town  can  be  given ;  you  can  see  that  town 
still  to-day.  And  you  ought  to  see  it  some  time;  it 
will  help  tell  j^ou  what  you  are,  and  what  you  are  to 
be.  You  may  find  some  of  your  kindred  there  still, 
quite  in  the  same  conditions  in  which  your  fathers 
were  hundreds  of  years  ago." 

This  was  another  egg  laid  in  Henry's  young  brain, 
and  destined  to  hatch  out  into  a  buzzing  idea  with 
tireless  wings.  He  must  go  abroad  to  the  cradle  of 
his  ancestors.  Can  we  wonder  that  he  was  rapt  in 
study?  He  was  whirled  back  across  the  ocean,  till  his 
eyes  began  to  swim  away  in  day-'dreams.  He  was 
awakened  by  the  stranger  asking:  "  Can  I  not  take 
the  book  with  me  to  my  room  ?  I  would  like  to  look 
it  through  carefully." 

Henry  was  averse  to  parting  with  such  a  treasure, 
even  for  a  short  time.  What  if  it  should  be  lost? 
He  felt  as  if  he  would  be  cut  off  from  his  whole  ances- 
tral existence,  which  was  waxing  strong  in  him.  Then 
he  had  a  dim  feeling  of  uncertainty  about  the  stranger, 
who  hardly  seemed  governed  by  the  ordinary  laws  of 


280  Ttt«   ]FREEBtlfi6eR§. 

mortals.  But  the  man  overpowered  him.  Against  his 
own  will  he  assented,  when  he  looked  into  that  strong 
face  which  had  a  demon  in  it.  This  was  the  first  time 
that  Henry  had  come  under  the  spell  of  such  a  strange 
person;  he  felt  the  mighty  attraction  of  the  man,  yet 
there  was  in  him  a  terror,  a  secret  backstroke  of  re- 
pulsion, too. 

The  youth  could  not  let  the  man  go  without  asking 
one  more  question:  "  You  have  read  this  old  hand- 
writing, it  is  wonderful ;  I  feel  I  can  live  several  cen- 
turies more  in  my  short  life,  through  this  knowledge. 
But  have  j^ou  noted  the  bod}^  of  this  book?  It  is 
printed  in  a  language  far  more  ancient  than  that  of  the 
written  leaves,  a  language  spoken  by  peoples  long  be- 
fore the  birth  of  Christ,  who  were  the  forerunners  of 
our  civilization.  Have  you  no  desire  to  reach  back 
and  take  them  into  your  life  and  knowledge,  reading 
what  they  thought  in  the  very  words  which  they 
spoke?  "  Henry  held  up  the  volume  at  this  point  and 
repeated  the  question:  "Have  you  no  desire  to  read 
the  print  of  this  book?  " 

The  man  turned  away  with  a  sudden  contortion  of 
the  face,  and  said  impatiently,  "  No!  " 

Yet  the  answer  was  forced,  was  indeed  false.  It 
was  the  man's  pride  that  responded,  not  his  candor. 
The  youth  saw  that  the  man  was  trying  to  put  down 
something,  was  telling  an  unveracity  to  his  own  soul. 
Henry  now  felt  that  he  was  uppermost  in  this  integrity 
toward  himself.  He  added :  "  I  am  going  to  learn  it ;  I 
am  going  to  college  as  soon  as  I  can." 

*'To  what  college?"  asked  the  stranger,  with  sup- 
pressed eagerness. 


6X   AXCESTRAL    LINES.  SSl 

"1  think,  to  Howardtown.'* 

Henry,  moreover,  informed  him  of  the  character  of 
that  inslitulion  of  learning.  The  man  listened,  changed, 
seemed  to  be  more  patient  with  himself.  Without  say- 
ing a  word,  he  rose,  picked  up  the  book,  and  marched 
out  of  the  house,  as  if  not  only  the  book,  but  also  the 
house  were  his  own. 

But  the  man  had  taken  a  lesson;  in  spite  of  his 
egotism,  he  had  been  compelled  to  confess  his  igno- 
rance. He  felt  the  restraint  of  not  knowing  that  book. 
His  pride  made  him  speak  of  such  knowledge  with 
contempt ;  but  that  was  his  weakness.  He  always 
condemned  most  what  he  understood  least.  Such 
condemnation,  however,  really  had  in  it  a  silent  sur- 
render, which  he  sought  to  cover  up  at  the  moment, 
but  which  he  would  afterwards  show  by  his  conduct. 
Truly  the  pedestrian,  with  all  his  wisdom,  has  been  put 
to  school  at  Freeburg;  that  is  the  real  reason  of  his 
stay.  The  old  singer  brought  home  to  him  one  limit; 
now  he  seems  to  have  rubbed  against  another. 

In  this  respect  Henry  Firestone's  character  was  the 
opposite  of  that  of  the  pedestrian ;  the  youth  sought 
to  find  out  his  ignorance  and  to  remove  it  on  all  sides. 
To-day  had  been  a  great  joy  to  him ;  he  had  pushed 
himself  far  beyond  his  former  bounds  ;  his  horizon  had 
expanded,  so  that  it  seemed  to  take  in  a  large  part  of 
the  world.  The  very  blood  in  his  veins  ran  tingling 
back  to  old  times  and  lands,  but  above  all  to  old  con- 
flicts, in  which  he  shared  personally,  through  his  an- 
cestors. What  he  had  regarded  as  a  far-off  occurrence, 
even  under  the  inspiration  of  Miss  Hope  Winslow's 
teaching,  he  now  felt  to  be  a  strand  of  his  life ;  he  was 


282  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

himself  an  event  of  history,  and  an  important  one  too. 
His  grandfather  and  Aunt  Polly  had  only  told  him  of 
his  immediate  antecedents ;  to-day  he  had  taken  a 
prodigious  leap  backwards  —  across  two  centuries, 
over  the  ocean.  What  next?  Yet  there  was  a  huge  gap 
between  these  two  landing-places  of  his  paternal  an- 
cestry —  will  it  be  filled? 

These  thoughts  naturally  caused  him  to  turn  to  his 
mother's  people.  Of  them  he  knew  almost  nothing. 
Yet  they  must  have  had  ancestors,  too,  and  those  an- 
cestors must  have  had  both  the  spirit  of  migration  and 
of  fight  in  them,  to  have  come  to  America  at  an  early 
period.  His  mother,  the  natural  annalist  of  her  side  of 
the  house,  had  died  when  he  was  a  child.  Here  rose 
another  limit  of  ignorance,  which  began  to  chafe  him, 
and  which  he  longed  to  clear  away.  But  he  knew  not 
what  to  do. 

II. 

Henry  continued  to  ruminate  on  these  matters  in 
some  perplexity ;  he  rose  and  took  a  walk  in  the  garden. 
He  had  been  there  but  a  short  time,  when  little  Trolla 
sprang  into  his  presence  with  great  joy,  and  shouted: 
''Uncle  Charley  has  come." 

It  was  the  long-expected  Virginia  uncle.  He  had 
arrived  at  Freeburg  two  or  three  days  previously, 
had  put  up  at  the  inn,  and  had  secretly  taken  his  own 
little  glance  at  the  town.  But  the  main  object  of  his 
visit  was  to  see  the  children  of  his  sister,  in  whom  he, 
though  absent  and  far  away,  had  always  taken  a  deep 
interest. 

Charles  Tournefort  of  Virginia  was  a  tall,  dignified 


I 


ON   ANCESTRAL   LINES.  283 

gentleman  dressed  in  decorous  broadcloth,  with  the 
unobtrusive  air  of  good  breeding  and  easy  life.  He 
was  a  man  of  fair  education,  but  not  deeply  learned ; 
his  social  polish  showed  off  somewhat  in  contrast  with 
his  brother-in-law,  the  elder  Firestone.  Mr.  Tournef  ort 
had  maintained  the  traditions  of  his  family,  he  was 
well  versed  in  its  history ;  in  fact,  it  was  one  of  the 
more  serious  employments  of  his  leisure  to  follow  up 
the  genealogy  of  his  kindred,  wherever  he  might  find  a 
trace.  There  could  be  no  doubt  concerning  his  ances- 
try ;  he  could  track  his  line  to  the  very  spot  in  Old 
England,  whence  they  originally  emigrated.  Very 
different  was  the  case  of  the  Firestones,  who  had,  to  a 
large  extent,  lost  their  connection  with  the  past. 

During  the  evening  old  matters  were  talked  over 
with  much  zest,  political  affairs  dropped  out  of  the  con- 
versation, domestic  history  received  chief  attention. 
The  uncle  was  in  his  best  humor,  and  occupied  in  his 
special  field ;  he  traced  for  the  inquiring  children  the 
ancestral  line  of  their  mother.  "  The  Tournef orts,"  he 
said , '  'were  settled  in  the  valley  of  the  James  during  the 
time  of  Oliver  Cromwell.  The  founder  of  the  Ameri- 
can branch  of  the  family,  Colonel  Tournefort,  was  a 
Cavalier,  had  fought  valiantly  for  King  Charles  I. ,  in 
the  Great  Rebellion  of  England,  and  had  lost  his  es- 
tate in  the  royal  cause.  This  misfortune  drove  him 
into  a  still  deeper  reaction  against  the  liberating  spirit 
of  the  time.  He  refused  to  live  in  his  native  country 
during  the  Protectorate,  which  had  displaced  the 
rightful  ruler,  and  set  up  in  his  stead  a  usurper.  He 
went  to  the  Continent,  and  became  a  violent  enemy  of 
the  Protestant  cause  at  least  in  its  political  aspect ;  he 


284  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

drew  his  sword  in  the  Thirty  Years'  War  on  the  side  of 
the  Imperialists,  though  it  is  not  known  that  he  ever 
turned  over  to  their  religion." 

During  the  narrative  of  the  uncle,  Henry  rose  and 
walked  about,  and  in  other  ways  betrayed  signs  of  de- 
cided excitement.  He  drew  the  attention  of  every 
body;  when  a  lull  came,  he  broke  out:  "  Tell  me,  do 
you  think  Colonel  Tournefort  was  at  the  taking  of 
Prague?" 

"  When?  during  the  last  year  of  the  war?  "  asked 
the  uncle. 

"  Just  at  that  time,'*  said  Henry. 

Uncle  Charles  slowly  drew  his  hand  across  his  fore- 
head and  answered :  "  The  records  of  the  family  in  my 
possession  show  that  he  was  there  and  was  wounded 
in  that  engagement." 

Henry  exclaimed :  "  What  a  strange  conjuncture! 
Do  you  know  that  I  have  just  learned  to-day  that 
Major  Von  Feuerstein  was  also  in  that  battle  on  the 
side  of  the  Protestants?  " 

All  were  astonished  at  Henry  when  he  told  his  in- 
formation, and  the  manner  in  which  he  had  obtained 
it.  The  old  book  acquired  new  value,  but  it  was  gone. 
The  fact,  however,  became  still  more  stunning  upon  a 
little  reflection.  The  maternal  and  paternal  ancestor 
had  met  on  opposite  fields  of  battle  centuries  before, 
and  neither  family  had  ever  known  of  it  till  now.  The 
discovery  had  been  made  far  from  the  scene  of  the 
battle,  far  from  the  Eastern  Continent,  in  fact,  far 
from  the  place  where  the  first  settlements  had  been 
formed  in  the  Western  Continent. 

Uncle  Charles,  indulging  in   a  very  pleasant  smile. 


ON   ANCESTRAL    LINES.  285 

resumed  his  talk  with  a  conjecture:  "Possibly  the 
sturdy  old  German  Major  may  have  dealt  the  blow 
which  felled  the  chivalrous  English  Colonel.  What 
do  you  say?'* 

The  family  present  divided  upon  this  obscure  point, 
some  taking  sides  with  the  Colonel,  some  with  the 
Mr.jor.  "  I  see,  "  said  Uncle  Charles,  "  that  the  old 
division  still  exists  in  you."  To  be  sure,  he  said  this 
in  a  humorous  way ;  but  even  in  himself  the  remark 
cut  deeper  than  he  thought.  It  was  perfectly  natural, 
therefore,  for  him  to  speak  the  next  sentence  in  a 
serious,  unconsciously  prophetic  tone:  ''Who  knows 
but  that  this  same  division  may  some  time  be  called  up 
in  us  all  again?"  The  members  of  that  household 
were  silent  for  a  moment ;  they  knew  that,  in  their 
case,  the  prophecy  was  already  fulfilled. 

Uncle  Charles  picked  up  the  thread  of  his  narrative 
again :  "The  peace  of  Westphalia  left  Colonel  Tourne- 
fort  no  hope  for  the  old  world,  which  persisted  in 
going  wrong.  He  had  been  driven  out  of  England, 
now  he  was  driven  out  of  Europe  ;  but  there  was  one 
more  continent  on  which  to  make  a  last  stand  against 
the  new  spirit.  He  resolved  to  emigrate,  he  preferred 
the  wilderness  of  America  to  the  civilization  of  Europe 
with  its  tendency  at  that  time.  Little  did  he  think 
that  the  demon  which  he  shrank  from,  had  already 
crossed  the  ocean  before  him.  But  he  was  not  troubled 
long;  the  year  after  his  arrival  his  family  came  just 
in  time  to  perform  the  last  rites  due  from  the  living 
to  the  dead. 

"  In  the  valley  of  the  James,  the  Tourneforts  re- 
mained many   years;  some  of    them  are   still   there. 


286  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

But  the  more  enterprising  branch  had  the  lust  of  mi- 
gration so  common  in  this  country ;  they  moved  north- 
ward into  the  valley  of  the  Shenandoah,  where  they 
remained  several  generations.  A  new  strange  cur- 
rent met  them  coming  down  this  valley.  It  was  the 
stream  of  German  migration,  which  had  overflowed 
from  Pennsylvania,  crossed  Maryland,  and  passed  into 
Virginia.  An  industrious,  thrifty,  home-spun  class  of 
people,  evidently  from  the  humbler  stations  of  life  '* — 
here  Uncle  Charles  checked  himself,  as  he  suddenly 
thought  who  were  before  him.  He  brought  his  tale  to 
a  rapid  close:  *'  There,  where  the  two  currents  united 
with  each  other  and  embraced,  sometimes  in  love  and 
sometimes  in  repugnance,  Mary  Tournefort  and  Her- 
man Firestone,  representatives  of  the  two  different 
populations,  met  and  were  married  in  a  small  town  not 
far  from  the  Potomac.'* 

What  was  manifest  from  several  little  indications  in 
the  uncle's  story,. may  be  declared  openly:  the  wife's 
kindred  had  higher  pretensions  to  lineage  than  the 
husband's.  These  pretensions  of  birth  were  still 
maintained  in  the  earlier  settlement  of  America. 
Tlie  frontier,  however,  was  a  great  leveler.  The  arti- 
ficial distinctions  of  society  could  not  avail  much  to 
the  possessor,  in  the  presence  of  nature  and  the  hos- 
tile Indian.  But  it  was  agreed  that  Mary  Tournefort 
married  a  worthy  man. 

The  more  important  fact,  however,  was,  that  the 
old  contest  of  the  ancestors  on  both  sides  was  still  in 
the  family.  It  glowed  in  new  forms,  new  events,  new 
catchwords,  but  the  struggle  at  bottom  was  the  same. 
The  conservative  and  the  progressive  tendencies  we 


ON   ANCESTRAL   LINES.  287 

may  call  them,  if  we  choose  ;  but  whatever  their  name, 
they  took  a  religious  form  in  the  seventeenth  century, 
and  a  political  form  in  the  nineteenth.  The  two  strands 
were  interwoven  in  families  and  divided  the  children 
into  parties  from  birth,  nay,  even  before  they  were 
born.  Wedlock  is  something  that  reaches  out  of  the 
present,  sweeps  backward  in  time,  and  draws  into 
itself  the  mightiest  events  of  the  past ;  one  marries  a 
whole  history,  nay,  a  whole  race  with  its  conflicts,  and 
has  to  take  the  consequences ;  one  can  not,  indeed, 
marry  at  all  without  some  such  world-embracing  ven- 
ture. 

It  has  been  already  noticed  how  the  Firestone  family 
divided  within  itself  upon  these  ancestral  lines,  yet 
without  the  members  knowing  the  fact ;  some  of  the 
children  seemed  to  follow  one  set  of  the  fathers,  some 
another  set.  A  little  discussion  arose  which  brought 
out  the  difference ;  Conscience  and  Law  had  a  little 
domestic  combat  in  the  presence  of  Uncle  Charles,  as 
they  had  had  hundreds  of  times  before.  It  was  very 
moderate,  however,  and  soon  stopped  out  of  respect 
for  his  supposed  opinions.  But  it  gave  him  a  fleeting 
glimpse  into  the  heart  of  the  present,  though  he  seemed 
hardly  aware  of  the  struggle  taking  place  there ;  he 
thought  it  was  settled  two  hundred  years  ago.  It  is 
no  wrong  to  him  to  say  that  he  was  behind  the  time ; 
in  Virginia  this  intense  wrestle  of  the  spirit  was  not 
known.  It  is  true  that  Mr.  Tournefort  had  heard 
much  of  the  Abolitionists  at  a  distance,  and  barely 
knew  of  their  spiritual  principle  called  Higher  Law, 
but  he  never  came  into  living  contact  with  it,  and 
watched  it  as  an  active  spring  in  a  human  soul.     In 


288  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

the  present  family,  bis  own  story  had  secretly  roused 
it,  and  given  it  a  foundation  in  an  antecedent  period. 

Mr.  Tournefort  during  his  visit  walked  forth  into 
the  town.  "What  activity!"  he  exclaimed;  "we 
have  no  such  life  as  this  in  the  towns  of  Virginia ;  they 
seem  dead  in  comparision.  What  conflict!  They 
have  but  the  one  side  of  that  which  here  has  two  sides. 
Why  the  strife,  and  yet  with  it  the  progress?  "  So  it 
was  in  matters  of  business ;  on  the  whole,  he  did  not 
like  the  character  of  what  he  saw,  but  he  was  open- 
eyed  and  open-souled ;  accordingly,  he  took  deeper 
glances,  some  of  which  went  to  the  very  heart  of  this 
village  activity.  "There  is  a  nerve,  yes,  a  principle, 
which  enters  into  all  I  can  see.  What  is  it?  "  His 
serene  philosophic  calm  had  been  stirred  up  from  the 
bottom,  and  made  turbid  with  much  questioning. 

In  a  short  time,  Mr.  Tournefort  had  formed  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Judge  Allworthy,  an  old  Virginian,  whom 
he  asked  about  the  cause  of  this  wonderful  activity. 
But  the  Judge  was  in  the  dark  about  it  himself ;  he 
had  felt  the  power,  he  knew  that  it  was  at  work,  but  he 
did  not  understand  it.  He  could  only  say  that  the 
chief  influence  was  climate^  It  was  too  hot  down  in 
Virginia  to  be  active.  Then  the  Yankee  spirit  is 
mone3^-loving,  and  pushes  in  every  direction  for  the 
dollar.  Yet  these  reasons  hardly  satisfied  Mr.  Tourne- 
fort. 

One  day  not  long  after  his  arrival  Miss  Winslow  hap- 
pened to  call  at  the  house  and  was  introduced  to  the 
Virginia  uncle.  When  the  latter  heard  that  the  school- 
mistress was'  from  New  England,  he  began  with  a  little 
playful  banter;      "Well,  I  suppose  your    ancestors 


ON   ANCESTRAL    LINES.  289 

came  over  in  the  Mayflower?  "  She  replied,  "  I  can  not 
say  ;  I  have  so  many  ancestors,  I  can  not  tell  whence 
they  all  came.  It  would  take  the  whole  earth  to  hold 
them  a  thousand  years  back." 

"  But  do  you  not  find  pleasure  and  pride  in  your 
pedigree?" 

**  Yes,  a  little.  But  I  have  not  the  time  to  trace  it, 
the  task  is  too  great.  One  of  my  forefathers  is  known 
to  have  come  over  in  the  Mayflower,  but  there  must 
be  a  hundred  others  of  whom  I  know  nothing." 

Uncle  Charles  was  not  altogether  gratified  at  the 
slight  put  upon  his  favorite  study  of  genealogy,  but 
he  appreciated  the  keenness  of  that  Yankee  woman. 

He  went  on  and  made,  with  a  certain  pride,  the  re- 
mark :  "Your  stock  is,  I  judge,  Puritan,  mine  i^  Cav- 
alier." 

She  replied:  **  I  have  one  ancestor  in  whom  I  take 
much  delight.  He  fought  at  Marston  Moor  and  helped 
win  the  great  victory ;  he  was  among  the  troops  of 
Oliver  Cromwell." 

Mr.  Tournefort  answered  courteously:  '*  I  had  also 
an  ancestor  in  that  battle.  Col.  Tournefort,  but  he 
fought  on  the  other  side,  and  lost  everything  but  his 
honor." 

*' Honor  indeed!  "  said  the  school-mistress,  whose 
sarcastic  vein  was  at  once  on  tap.  But  she  immedi- 
ately bethought  herself  and  suppressed  her  look  and 
tone,  while  Mr.  Tournefort  was  politely  silent.  Still 
it  was  plain  that  each  had  blood  enough  to  fight  the 
battle  of  Marston  Moor  over  again  on  the  banks  of  the 
Sassaquatchie.  Charles  Tournefort  was  chivalrous, 
and  he  began  to  admire  the  spirit  of  the  woman.     They 


290  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

fell  into  pleasant  meaningless  talk,  which,  however, 
veered  gradually  round  to  the  great  topic  of  the  day  in 
Freeburg.  At  last  Miss  Winslow  put  the  question 
squarely :     ''  Do  you  believe  in  slavery?  " 

Mr.  Tournefort  replied:  "I  have  never  fully 
known  what  I  believed  about  that  much  discussed 
subject ;  it  is  quite  possible  that  I  do  not  believe  in 
slavery  abstractl}^,  but  we  have  the  right  to  this  kind 
of  property,  the  negroes  are  here  on  our  hands  and 
we  need  them.  Law  has  settled  the  matter  for  us ; 
why  should  we  trouble  ourselves  further?" 

Miss  Winslow  grew  animated  in  her  reply:  **  No; 
law  can  not  settle  the  matter  for  you,  there  is  another 
deeper,  stronger  factor.  I  have  already  heard  you  ask 
in  wonder  why  we  are  so  active  here,  while  the  towns 
and  communities  in  your  State  seem  to  be  lagging.  I 
shall  tell  you  my  opinion :  it  is  because  we  have  not 
only  Law,  but  also  Conscience,  between  whose  interplay 
come  all  the  great  energies  in  the  human  breast. 
Conscience  is  forever  seeking  to  correct  Law  by  its  ideal 
standard  of  right.  This  gives  an  eternal  movement,  a 
progress  toward  a  higher  goal,  which  reaches  through 
every  part  of  the  community  and  extends  to  every 
kind  of  activity,  even  down  into  business." 

It  was  a  view  of  the  matter  which  Mr.  Tournefort 
had  never  heard,  or,  if  he  had  heard  it,  he  had  never 
comprehended  its  meaning  before.  He  leaned  back  in 
his  chair,  absorbed  in  his  thoughts.  Miss  Winslow 
saw  her  advantage  and  followed  it  up:  "With  you 
Law  seems  to  settle  all,  Conscience  little  or  nothing ; 
with  us  Conscience  quickens,  transforms  Law,  it  strives 
and  keeps  striving   till  it  makes  itself  legal.     Think 


ON   ANCESTRAL    LINES.  291 

what  you  have  just  said ;  your  conviction  you  smother 
by  statute,  and  the  fountain  of  your  moral  being  goes 
dry.  Law  deadens  Conscience,  if  it  be  allowed  to  be 
the  final  arbiter. " 

Thus  the  keen  school-mistress  was  craftily  instilling 
into  Uncle  Charles  the  doctrine  of  the  Higher  Law ;  he 
began  to  feel  in  himself  the  conflict  which  was  waged  in 
the  community.  He  could  not,  moreover,  help  having 
a  decided  admiration  for  the  woman  who  could  say 
and  do  all  these  things ;  she  was  indeed  the  chief 
phenomenon  of  the  town.  As  she  rose  to  go  away,  the 
courteous  Virginian  paid  her  some  delicate  but  very 
effective  compliments ;  he  confessed  to  her  that  she 
had  given  him  much  to  think  about.  Like  the  Vir- 
ginian of  the  olden  time,  he  was  fond  of  political 
thought ;  he  had  strong  conservative  leanings,  yet  an 
open  eye  for  what  was  taking  place,  as  well  as  an  ac- 
cessible heart.  The  great  struggle  of  the  time  began 
to  dawn  upon  him  in  proportion  as  he  felt  it  rising  in 
himself.  Its  chief  manifestation  was  in  politics,  but 
he  could  perceive  the  same  sharp  edge  cutting  every- 
where, even  in  commerce.  The  spirit  was  so  different 
from  what  he  had  been  used  to  at  home.  Nor  could 
he  keep  out  of  mind  that  wonderful  woman,  the  su- 
preme miracle  of  the  village. 

III. 

Mr.  Tournefort  had  not  been  long  in  Freeburg,  be- 
fore he  began  taking  little  trips  into  the  surrounding 
country ;  he  examined  the  nature  of  the  soil,  and  its 
products,  but  chiefly  he  sought  to  discover  the  charac- 


292  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

ter  of  the  people,  and  the  secret  of  their  social  life. 
He  made  inquiries  into  the  origin  of  the  inhabitants, 
his  mental  tendency  led  him  back  to  their  ancestors, 
in  order  to  see  what  the  descendants  were  doing  or 
were  likely  to  do.  He  could  not  help  laying  much 
stress  on  blood  and  birth ;  he  thought  he  had  found 
out  the  man,  when  he  had  found  out  the  grandfather. 

As  a  result  of  these  investigations  he  learned  that 
the  town  of  Freeburg,  as  well  as  the  entire  belt  of 
country  in  which  it  was  but  a  little  dot,  had  a  very 
composite  population.  Yet  it  was  almost  wholly 
American,  coming  from  the  Eastern  States ;  the  great 
overflow  from  abroad  had  hardly  touched  it,  certainly 
had  not  affected  it  perceptilily.  Mr.  Tournefort  was 
at  first  soraewhat  confused  by  the  many  little  runnels 
of  migration  that  crossed  and  re-crossed  one  another 
in  a  complicated  net-work  of  human  streams  rolling 
westward.  But  at  last  he  discerned  that  there  were 
three  main  channels,  each  bringing  a  certain  tendency 
and  character,  and  all  uniting  into  one  vast  current 
that  swept  onward  to  the  Mississippi,  and  even  surged 
over  the  mighty  river,  finding  its  way  toward  the  Rocky 
Mountains. 

The  first  of  these  three  great  streams  of  migration 
westward  was  the  Southern  one,  chiefly  from  Virginia, 
but  with  accessions  from  Maryland  and  Kentucky. 
There  were  many  reasons  assigned  for  leaving  these 
States :  there  was  the  universal  one,  applicable  on  all 
occasions,  namely,  American  restlessness  ;  then  came 
the  desire  of  seeking  a  fortune  in  a  new  country,  a  de- 
sire very  strongly  animating  young  breasts.  But  in 
such  cases  migration  naturally  followed  the  same  lines 


I 


ON   ANCESTRAL    LINES.  293 

of  latitude  on  which  it  started.  Here,  however,  there 
was  a  great  turn  of  the  Southern  stream  northward,  in 
the  direction  of  Freeburg.  What  was  the  cause  of 
this  change  of  course?  Mr.  Tournefort  felt  dimly 
the  reason,  though  he  did  not  give  it  much  attention. 
There  can  be  no  doubt,  however,  that  this  deflection 
was  largely  on  account  of  some  dissatisfaction  with 
the  prevailing  institutions  and  social  life  of  the  South. 
Often  the  feeling  was  but  a  dumb  instinct,  a  mere  wish 
or  curiosity  to  go  into  a  free  State,  in  order  to  see  if 
matters  went  better  there.  Such  people  seldom  had 
any  scruples  about  slavery  ;  often  they  were  its  defend- 
ers in  their  new  homes.  Still  these  Virginia  emi- 
grants, leaving  their  old  abode,  and  turning  asidefrom 
the  easy  and  natural  line  of  migration,  were,  as  a  body, 
ready  for  new  views,  ready  at  least,  to  hear  a  protest 
against  the  old  system,  which  protest,  in  fact,  they 
had  themselves  unconsciously  made  by  their  very 
journey.  Doubtless  they  retained  to  the  last  some- 
thing of  their  native  conservatism  and  strong  respect 
for  legality,  as  we  have  witnessed  in  the  case  of  Judge 
Allworthy.  They  could,  however,  be  trained  —  for  ihe 
germ  was  present  —  into  an  equal  respect  for  con- 
science. Under  this  training  they  were  put  in  Free- 
burg, and  in  every  part  of  the  North. 

The  second  of  these  great  streams  of  population  was 
the  Pennsylvania  German,  moving  mainly  on  straight 
parallel  lines  to  the  West,  as  it  had  no  cause  to  de- 
flect. This  stream  swept  very  strongly  into  Freeburg 
and  all  its  environment,  which  lay  right  in  its  course. 
These  people,  indeed,  were  hard  to  turn,  and  they 
moved  slowly,  retaining  in  the  keen,  nerve-making  air 


294  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

of  America  a  good  deal  of  their  phlegmatic  character. 
They  were  mostly  agricultural,  and  very  prosperous ; 
they  were  famed  for  having  larger  and  better  barns 
than  dwelling-houses.  They  shunned  trickery,  and 
had  little  of  the  shrewdness  of  the  trader ;  they  did 
their  work  with  their  own  hands,  and  would  uphold  the 
dignity  of  labor.  Industry,  frugality,  and  an  honest 
simplicity  of  life  were  their  bright  but  homely  traits. 
They  had  little  ambition  or  taste  for  public  affairs, 
and  their  ability  seemed  to  correspond ;  they  left,  for 
the  most  part,  the  administration  of  the  State  and  its 
offices  to  their  Northern  and  Southern  neighbors.  But 
they  had  a  germ  which  could  be  nursed  into  great 
activity,  and  which  joined  them  to  the  might}'  move- 
ment of  the  time.  Nearly  all  of  them  were  descend- 
ants of  people  who  had  been  driven  from  one  conti- 
nent to  the  other  by  persecution  for  reHgious  opinions, 
and  who  had  given  up  home  and  country  for  a  life  in 
the  wilderness,  where  they  could  have  freedom  of  con- 
science. The  children  had  still  in  them  the  dormant 
might  of  conviction,  which  could  be  waked,  and  could 
stir  their  heavy  forms  into  a  thrilling  energy.  Such 
was  Herman  Firestone  ;  it  was  not  to  no  purpose  that 
his  ancestors  had  been  dragonnaded  out  of  Europe. 
But,  on  the  whole,  these  people  stood  in  the  middle 
between  North  and  South  ;  they  moved  rather  unwill- 
ingly, they  were  the  balance-wheel  in  the  social  and 
political  mechanism. 

The  third  stream  of  migration  was  from  New  En- 
gland, bending  a  little  southward  around  the  great 
lakes,  and  penetrating  inland  till  it  met  and  crossed 
rivulets  coming  from  other  directions.     This  element, 


ON    ANCESTRAL    LINES.  295 

in  the  locality  before  us,  was  the  least  of  the  three  as 
regards  the  number  of  emigrants ;  still  a  good  many- 
scattering  families  were  to  be  found  in  the  towns  and 
their  rural  neighborhoods  taken  together.  But  New 
England  had  in  Freeburg  one  representative,  who,  for 
formative  power,  surpassed  every  other  influence  in 
the  community.  This  was  Miss  Hope  Winslow,  the 
school- mistress.  She  had,  as  already  shown,  in  her 
hands  directly  or  indirectly,  all  the  effective  instru- 
ments of  information  and  culture ;  books,  newspapers, 
magazines  she  gave  out  to  the  people  through  the 
town  library,  which  she  controlled ;  the  education  of 
the  entire  region  was  her  special  work,  and  under  her 
guidance.  She  ruled  the  idea ;  that  is,  she  ruled  the 
ruler.  She  never  said  much  about  her  home,  it  might 
excite  prejudice  against  her,  for  the  Yankee  was,  on 
the  whole,  not  popular  in  other  sections  of  the  coun- 
try. She  had  tact,  and  easily  took  the  lead ;  the  Vir- 
ginian and  the  Pennsylvanian  followed  in  her  footsteps, 
were  moulded  by  her  discipline,  and  at  last  heard  their 
children  talk  her  accent.  The  soil  was,  indeed,  ready, 
but  not  cultivated ;  the  time  had  furnished  a  good 
seed-field,  which  the  school-mistress  at  once  entered 
and  sowed  with  all  her  might  in  every  direction.  The 
Puritan,  in  his  cold  rocky  home,  had  developed  the 
spiritual  fact  which  was  to  conquer ;  and  the  daughter 
of  the  Puritan  was  really  his  spiritual  child  more  than 
his  son,  who  was  too  often  bribed  by  the  gains  of  com- 
merce, or  the  prizes  of  professional  life  to  turn  aside 
into  some  vocation  which  had  little  or  nothing  to  do 
with  that  of  a  light-bearer  for  a  continent. 

It  was  felt,  however,  that  these  three  streams  of 


296  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

migration  had  something  in  common,  which  lay  be- 
neath all  differences.  The  ancestors  had  fled  from 
the  old  world  for  some  form  of  freedom ;  they  all  had 
shown  their  inn?r  strength  by  facing  the  perils  of  a 
stormy  ocean  and  a  wild  continent ;  they  were  sifted 
out  of  the  whole  of  Europe,  by  a  law  which  never 
failed  to  select  the  liberty-loving,  the  strong-hearted, 
and  the  conscientious.  Then  a  second  sifting  had 
taken  place ;  the  descendants,  wishing  a  deeper  free- 
dom, as  well  as  an  improved  well-being,  left  the  old 
part  of  the  new  world,  which  had  become  a  little 
trammeled  by  conventionality  and  by  law.  A  com- 
mon tendency  we  see  in  all  these  movements  —  a  bar- 
rier-bursting, freedom-seeking  spirit ;  and  this  is  the 
spirit  which  Freeburg  has  inherited  from  the  ages, 
and  which  it  is  just  now  showing  in  forms  not  hitherto 
seen  in  the  world. 

Such  were  some  of  the  thoughts,  which,  with  more 
or  less  distinctness,  came  home  to  Mr.  Charles  Tourne- 
fort,  while  studying  the  people  and  their  origin.  To 
be  sure,  he  knew  vaguely  most  of  these  facts  before, 
he  had  read  them  in  history ;  but  they  had  always 
remained  pale  and  evanescent,  little  shadows  of  mem- 
ory ;  at  present,  however,  they  were  full  of  the  red 
blood  of  life,  and  challenged  the  world.  Great  was 
his  surprise  to  see  these  old  events  still  alive  and 
at  work  in  the  events  of  to-day.  His  study  of 
ancestry  had  yielded  him  its  best  fruit.  The  ge- 
nealogy of  the  family  he  had  often  traced,  and  he  had 
suffered  somewhat  from  its  exclusive  tendency,  its 
too  great  fostering  of  pride  of  blood  and  birth.  But 
at  present,  he  had  been  led  to  follow  out  a  far  deeper 


ON    ANCESTRAL    LINES.  297 

genealogy  than  that  of  any  family  —  the  genealogy  of 
a  great  principle,  which  holds  Families  and  even 
Statues  and  Ages  in  its  sweep. 

Thus,  that  little  town  of  Freeburg  on  the  rivulet 
Sassaquatchie  had  been  thrown  up  to  the  surface  of 
Time  by  mighty  revolutions,  whose  fires  still  burned 
in  its  heart,  unquenchable.  It  had  inherited  the 
strifes  of  great  antecedent  epochs,  as  well  as  their 
principles.  The  long  desperate  discipline  of  its  race 
lay  in  it,  as  well  as  back  of  it ;  the  battles  fought  cen- 
turies ago,  were  slill  lurking  in  its  bosom,  and  had  to 
be  fought  again,  though  under  a  new  standard.  All 
history  seemed  to  flow  through  this  one  obscure  set- 
tlement in  the  backwoods,  to  mould  it,  to  predeter- 
mine its  destiny.  It  took  the  whole  world  to  produce 
Freeburg,  and  Freeburg  in  its  turn  was  a  link,  one 
little  link,  in  the  chain  that  upheld  the  world.  What 
if  that  link  snap !  But  there  was  no  danger  of  such  a 
thing  taking  place  in  Freeburg.  Its  people  had  no 
name  marked  in  large  bright  letters  on  the  scroll  of 
Time,  but  they  were  called  on  anew  to  fight  Time's 
battle,  and  they  were  preparing  to  obey  the  summons. 
They  could  be  seen  at  this  moment  in  the  process  of 
making  up  their  minds ;  they  were  not  yet  quite  ready, 
perhaps,  but  they  would  be,  when  the  clock  of  the 
ages  began  to  strike  the  hour  for  marching.  They 
were  keeping  firm  pace  with  the  advance  guard  of  the 
cause,  and  it  was  certain  that  they  would  be  on  hand, 
when  the  conflict  opened. 

The  civil  wars  of  England  during  Cromwell's  time, 
and  of  Germany  during  the  Thirty  Years  before  the 
Peace  of   Westphalia,    were   about   to    begin    again 


298  THE    FREEBURQERS. 

among  the  children  of  the  men  who  fought  in  those 
wars.  The  old  battle  was  to  be  tried  afresh  in  new 
forms,  in  new  peoples,  in  a  new  world.  In  fact,  the 
three  great  currents  of  population  which  have  been 
traced  —  were  they  not  thrown  hitherwards  mainly 
through  those  wars?  Freeburg  was  a  child  of  those 
European  conflicts  by  a  spiritual  as  well  as  physical 
descent.  The  genealogy  was  written  down  in  great 
events  and  could  be  read  of  all  men. 

A  chief  point  of  connection  with  the  past  was  the 
Reformation  with  all  the  struggles,  inner  and  outer, 
to  which  it  gave  rise.  The  Reformation,  with  its 
right  of  private  judgment,  and  with  its  additional 
claim  to  worship  God  according  to  the  dictates  of  indi- 
vidual conscience,  ruled  in  Freeburg,  and  made  the 
spiritual  atmosphere  of  the  place.  The  consequences 
of  such  a  claim  were  also  witnessed  in  the  tendency 
to  religious  division.  There  were  in  that  little  town 
seven  sects  which  had  churches,  and  more  than  seven 
others  which  had  none.  Yet  there  was  no  representa- 
tive of  the  old  Mother  Church,  the  Roman  Catholic, 
the  refuge  of  unity,  the  home  of  authority. 

But  the  ecclesiastical  spirit  of  the  previous  ages 
was  becoming  more  and  more  secular ;  the  conflict  of 
the  time  was  also  secular,  though  playing  deeply  into 
the  religious  consciousness.  The  political  life  of  the 
country  was  absorbing ;  the  State  was  the  great  bat- 
tle-ground, not  the  Church,  except  by  way  of  inter- 
lude. The  ministers  of  the  various  sects  still  fought 
and  squabbled  over  fine  points  in  theology,  but  the 
congregations  were,  in  the  main,  languid  in  such  dis- 
putes, at  least  that  was  the  case  in  Freeburg.     It  is 


ON    ANCESTRAL    LINES.  299 

true  that  the  different  churches,  sought,  by  yearly 
revivals,  to  galvanize  the  great  unconverted  mass  till 
it  might  give  forth  a  little  spark  of  religion ;  but,  upon 
the  absorbing  issues  of  the  day,  which  made  the  vital 
distinction  of  the  time  into  two  great  parties,  the 
churches  divided  like  the  rest  of  the  world.  Prayers 
equally  fervent  and  sincere  were  heard  upon  both  sides ; 
as  they  rose  heavenward,  they  seemed  to  collide  and 
counteract  each  other  somewhere  in  mid  air,  and  to 
fall  back  to  the  earth,  before  they  had  reached  the 
throne  of  the  Supreme  Disposer, 


IV. 


Wherever  Mr.  Tournef ort  went,  he  was  sure  to  find 
traces  of  the  school-mistress.  The  truth  is,  he  took  a 
secret  pleasure  in  hunting  them  up  and  bringing  them 
to  light  if  they  were  not  visible  on  the  surface.  What 
he  sought  for,  he  found,  as  usual ;  and  the  finding 
made  him  seek  again  with  greater  zest.  She  was  in 
his  mind  during  his  perambulations,  and  had  a  tend* 
ency  to  remain  fixed  there ;  the  whole  growth  of  Free- 
burg  gathered  round  her  image,  and  all  its  light 
seemed  to  go  back  to  her  as  the  center  of  radiation. 
It  is  true  that  he  heard  words  of  detraction  concern- 
ing her,  but  they  were  such  as  to  show  the  more 
strongly  her  influence.  Jealousy  had  not  failed  to 
pick  flaws  in  her  career  and  character.  She  had 
crushed  too  many  monsters  not  to  arouse  a  hiss.  Mr. 
Tournefort  asked  his  Virginia  friend.  Judge  Allworthy, 
about  her  life  and  her  disposition  ;  but  the  Judge  blew^ 
hot  and  cold,  he  could  give  no  rational  account  of  the 


300  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

woman,  for  he  was  by  no  means  at  one  with  himself  in 
regard  to  her  work.  After  a  good  deal  of  balancing 
for  and  against,  wherein  he  always  showed  a  judicial 
impartiality,  he  would  at  last  break  out  into  a  pleas- 
ant smile  and  say:   "  I,  too,  am  in  the  stream." 

A  few  days  after  his  first  interview  with  her,  Mr. 
Tournefort,  in  one  of  his  strolls,  was  passing  the 
school-house,  which  he  had  come  to  know  well  as  alto- 
gether the  most  prominent  light-point  of  the  village. 
He  thought  he  would  take  a  peep  inside  for  himself, 
and  see  what  was  going  on.  It  is  true  that  the  hours 
of  school  were  over,  he  could  not  have  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  the  pupils  and  of  hearing  them  recite.  This 
pleasure,  however,  he  thought  would  be  compensated 
by  the  satisfaction  of  finding  Miss  Winslow  alone  and 
unoccupied,  since  he  had  a  secret  wish  to  hear  a  little 
of  her  conversation,  when  nobody  was  present. 

Several  times  he  walked  up  and  down  the  street  in 
front  of  the  building  holding  some  little  argument  with 
himself.  At  last  he  went  up  the  steps  and  knocked  at 
the  door;  he  was  surprised  to  feel  a  quick  thrill  run 
through  his  body  at  the  sound  of  his  own  rap.  He 
was  at  once  ushered  into  the  presence  of  Miss  Winslow, 
who  rose  and  stood  before  him  majestically,  the  queen 
of  this  castle  of  learning.  But  great  was  the  astonish- 
ment of  Uncle  Charles ;  not  far  from  her  sat  a  big, 
burly  negro  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  evidently  in  the 
act  of  receiving  instruction.     Miss  Winslow  spoke: — 

"  Now,  Mr.  Bell,  you  may  stop  a  few  moments." 

What  a  colossal  disillusion  for  the  lofty  Virginian ! 
The  thrill  in  his  bosom  now  started  in  another  direc- 
tion.    But  she  received  him  with  great  courtesy ;  she 


ON    ANCESTRAL    LINES.  301 

spoke  a  few  words,  and  plainly  enjoyed  his  embarrass- 
ment. If  before  she  had  enchanted  him,  she  now  was 
the  disenchantress,  and  was  delighted  to  play  the  part. 
She  grasped  a  book  and  put  it  into  the  hands  of  the 
negro,  and  had  him  read,  or  rather  declaim  a  particu- 
lar passage.  It  was  an  eloquent  appeal  taken  from  a 
well-known  anti-slavery  orator  of  New  England.  The 
negro  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  piece,  and  spoke  it 
with  great  fluency  and  energy.  Mr.  Tournefort 
noticed  that  his  pronunciation  was  quite  free  of  the 
African  accent ;  he  also  noticed  that  the  black  fellow 
had  fully  imbibed  the  idea,  and  ideas  are  not  easy  to 
put  into  chains. 

The  teacher  dismissed  her  pupil,  whom  Mr.  Tourne- 
fort recognized  as  the  negro  who  had  addressed  him 
at  the  inn.  The  thought  of  that  letter  to  his  friend 
near  Richmond,  came  into  his  mind.  What  had  be- 
come of  it?  What  a  turmoil  it  might  cause!  But  he 
let  these  uncomfortable  reflections  drop  without  further 
troubling  himself.  What  is  the  use  of  chasing  down 
remote  possibilities,  when  mighty  facts  are  staring  you 
in  the  face ! 

The  negro  went  out  of  the  door  with  apparent  un- 
wilHngness,  and  left  the  two  alone  together.  As  he 
passed,  he  darted  an  unfriendly  glance  at  the  visitor, 
and  he  uttered  a  low  guttural  sound,  like  a  growl, 
which  caught  the  ear  of  Miss  Winslow,  and  sent  a 
slight  shiver  through  her  frame ;  she  had  heard  some- 
thing of  the  kind  before.  But  she  turned  to  the 
stranger,  and  showed  herself  ready  for  interrogation. 

Mr.  Tournefort  perceived  what  was  expected  of  him, 


302  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

and,  without  any  strong  inner  call,  he  asked:   "  Is  that 
one  of  your  pupils?" 

"  I  give  him  some  lessons  after  school." 
'*  Is  it  permitted  here  to  teach  negroes?  " 
**I  do  so,  and  have  not  yet  been  disturbed.** 
*'  Do  you  think  they  can  learn  anything?  " 
**  You   heard  what  this   one   can  do   in  the  way  of 
reading.'* 

"  How  long  have  you  instructed  him?'* 
''  A  few  months." 

"That  darkey's  face  seems  familiar  to  me,"  said 
Mr.  Tournefort. 

"He  is  said  to  be  a  runaway  slave,  and  to  have 
come  from  your  part  of  the  country,**  observed  Miss 
Winslow. 

Both  were  silent,  each  had  a  thought  which  stopped 
the  tongue.  Mr.  Tournefort  reflected  that  his  last  re- 
mark might  point  him  out,  in  case  of  any  trouble,  as  a 
man  who  had  come  to  catch  the  negro ;  his  letter  also 
made  him  a  little  uneasy.  Miss  Winslow  considered 
that  she  had  told  something  which  might  turn  to  the 
detriment  of  the  poor  fugitive.  Both  were  ill  at  ease. 
Mr.  Tournefort  had  suppressed  his  feelings  and  lan- 
guage, but  he  felt  the  strain  to  be  too  great,  he  wished 
to  take  breath  after  such  an  effort.  He  parted  from 
the  school -mistress  very  politely,  and  left  the  room. 
She  felt  the  tempest  in  the  soul  of  her  visitor,  at  the 
same  time  she  admired  his  self-command  and  his 
courtesy.  She  asked  him  to  come  again ;  to  which  in- 
vitation he  nodded  his  head. 
As  Mr,  Tournefort  went  out,  he  was  surprised  to 


ON   ANCESTRAL    LINES.  303 

see  the  negro  springing  away  from  the  door  just  in 
advance  of  him,  and  moving  off  toward  the  village  in 
a  great  hurr3\  Mr.  Tournefort  thought  the  incident 
curious,  but  his  mind  was  too  much  occupied  with 
what  he  had  just  seen,  to  dwell  upon  such  a  trivial 
matter.  Still  he  could  not  help  noticing  that  every  now 
and  then  the  negro  indulged  in  a  wild  gesticulation, 
showing  that  his  African  blood  for  some  cause  wag 
ebullient  with  strong  passion.  Cudjo  disappeared  be- 
hind the  houses  of  the  village,  and  Mr.  Tournefort 
continued  his  walk  nowhitherwards,  to  see  if  he 
could  not  there  get  rid  of  his  qualms. 


\ 


CHAPTER  EIGHTH. 


THE  AFRICAN  IN  FBEEBUBG, 
I. 

It  has  become  plain  that  Cudjo  Bell,  the  African 
and  runaway  slave,  shared  profoundly  in  the  aspira- 
tion for  knowledge  which  had  been  kindled  in  the 
town  of  Freeburg,  chiefly  through  the  efforts  of  Miss 
Hope  Winslow,  the  Yankee  school-mistress.  The 
negro,  soon  after  his  arrival,  in  an  unconscious  way 
felt  the  pulse  of  the  place ;  he  found  it  beating  with 
more  than  usual  violence  against  the  walls  of  its  own 
arteries,  as  if  it  sought  to  break  out  of  its  established 
channels  and  run  freely  wherever  it  listed.  Soon  he 
perceived  that  he  was  in  the  same  condition  as  the 
rest  of  the  Freeburgers.  His  desire  for  liberty  had 
already  impelled  him  to  surge  upon,  and  finally  to 
dash  over,  one  mighty  barrier ;  now  another  barrier, 
more  subtle  and  almost  greater,  presented  itself,  with 
bars  stronger  than  iron,  and  was  holding  him  a  pris- 
oner in  a  new  slavery. 

He  was  too   shrewd  not   to   see  that  the  power  of 

the  time  lay  with  the  men  who  know.     But  knowledge 

had  been  forbidden  him  ;  just  for   this  reason  he  felt 

that  he  must  sweep  away  the  prohibition,  and  stretch 

(304) 


THE   AFRICAN    IN    FREEBURG.  305 

forth  his  hand  for  the  cup  of  learning.  One  more 
limit  between  himself  and  the  white  man  he  would 
pull  down,  and  assert  in  a  new  way  his  equality. 
Could  he  stop  in  his  career?  He  had  attained  with 
single-handed  courage  his  bodily  freedom ;  now  he 
must  reach  out  for  his  mental  enfranchisement.  The 
negro  could  not  help  falling  in  with  the  barrier-burst- 
ing spirit  which  ruled  in  Freeburg,  and  was  whirling 
it  rapidly  onward  into  some  unknown  horizon  of  the 
social  firmament. 

The  task,  however,  seemed  diflficult.  Where  could 
he  get  his  starting-point?  Where  find  instruction  to 
give  him  the  first  little  push  that  would  overcome  the 
dead  still-stand  of  ignorance?  And  if  he  could  ob- 
tain that  first  lesson,  would  not  this  circumstance  re- 
veal his  plan,  and  possibly  rouse  suspicion?  With 
all  its  progress,  Freeburg  was  not  yet  ready  to  accept 
the  education  of  the  black  man,  though  it  would 
aflSrm  his  liberty.  Cudjo  knew  the  prejudice  of  the 
community,  and  was  discreet  in  not  wishing  to  exact 
too  much  at  once.  It  tolerated  his  freedom,  it  might 
not  endure  his  aspiration.  Every  body  said  that  the 
negro  should  know  his  place,  and  keep  in  it ;  but  his 
place  was  just  that  which  Cudjo  was  going  to  trans- 
cend by  one  supreme  effort. 

He  quietly  looked  about  himself  some  weeks,  nay, 
some  months  ;  then  he  began  to  carry  out  his  scheme. 
He  laid  hold  of  a  cast-off  spelling-book ;  by  playing 
school  with  a  boy,  he  secretly  learned  his  letters.  In 
fact,  his  great  means  of  instruction  were  the  children, 
from  whom  he  gained  his  coveted  information  by 
stealth.     The  best  teachers  are  often  the  little  ones  in 

20 


306  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

their  plays  and  games,  which  Cudjo  artfully  turned 
to  his  own  profit.  The  big  burly  negro  became  as  a 
little  child  and  obtained  the  reward. 

As  soon  as  he  had  learned  to  spell  short  and  simple 
words,  he  began  to  practice  writing,  his  instructors 
still  being  the  children,  who  were  entertained  by  his 
mirth,  his  singing,  above  all  by  his  story-telling.  A 
mythical  fountain  was  in  him  and  kept  flowing.  The 
strange  tales  of  the  Southern  negro,  giving  in  childlike 
narration  the  history  and  discipHne  of  the  black  race, 
became  the  property  of  the  white  children  of  Freeburg. 

"You  cannot  make  a  '  g,'  *'  he  said  to  a  school-boy, 
with  whom  he  was  engaged  in  some  sport.  *'  Yes,  I 
can,"  and  Cudjo  beheld  the  letter  written  on  a  fence 
board  with  a  piece  of  chalk.  "  Now  you  can't  make 
a  '  q.'  "  The  second  letter  was  at  once  written  along- 
side of  the  other.  Thus  Cudjo  learned  a  distinction 
which  had  troubled  him  for  some  days.  In  this  way 
he  established  a  kind  of  play-school,  in  which  the 
wildest  hilarity  was  directed  and  filled  with  an  earnest 
purpose  of  instruction. 

From  the  same  source  he  began  to  take  lessons  in 
pronunciation.  He  had  not  been  in  Freeburg  a  week, 
before  he  had  resolved  to  get  rid  of  his  African  ac- 
cent. It  was  a  badge  of  distinction  of  race,  if  not  of 
servitude.  The  children  again  were  his  unconscious 
teachers ;  he  trained  his  ear  to  their  pure  utterance, 
and  then  practiced  his  tongue  after  the  same  model. 
In  a  short  time  comparatively,  his  speech  seemed  to 
have  been  dipped  into  the  primitive  well  of  English  un- 
defiled,  and  to  have  had  a  new  birth  from  the  baptism. 

One  day  he  was  overheard  in  an  effort  of  this  kind 


THE    AFRICAN    IN    FREEBURG.  307 

by  Miss  Wiaslow,  who  happened  to  be  passing,  and 
who  at  once  divined  his  purpose.  She  had  noticed 
him  previously ;  she  saw  the  dark  shadow  which  he 
cast  upon  the  village ;  he  was  the  sole  man  upon  whom 
the  light  of  knowledge  was  not  permitted  to  shine. 
She  was  already  thinking  of  some  plan  by  which  she 
might  remove  the  obscuration;  the  little  incident 
which  now  came  under  her  notice,  and  in  which  she 
saw  the  poor  ignorant  black  man  in  disguise  seeking 
illumination,  caused  her  to  form  her  resolution  on  the 
spot.  Moreover,  Cudjo  knew  the  source  of  light  in 
the  village,  but  he  was  afraid  of  going  directly  to  it; 
still  he  had  learned  to  see  much  by  its  reflection,  and  was 
prepared  for  the  greater  luminary.  Thus  both  sides 
were  not  only  ready,  but  eager. 

Miss  Winslow  went  up  to  him  and  spoke: — 

'*They  call  you  Cudjo  Bell,  1  believe?*' 

**  Yes,  madam,"  the  darkey  replied,  with  his  hat 
removed  and  obsequiously  ducking  his  head. 

''Would  you  like  to  do  a  little  work  for  me?" 

*'  I  am  already  quite  busy." 

''  I  can  take  you  at  odd  hours.'* 

"What  is  the  work?" 

"  Tell  me,  can  you  get  off  a  while  every  day  from 
your  regular  duties?" 

"If  you  wish  so;  my  regular  duties  are  not  very 
regular." 

"  I  want  you  very  much." 

Cudjo  still  did  not  understand.  Miss  Winslow 
came  nearer  and  spoke  in  lower  tones :  — 

"  Bring  your  spelling-book  along.  To-morrow 
afternoon  at  four  o'clock," 


308  THE   FREEBURGEKS. 

Cudjo  now  had  an  inkling  of  what  she  meant.  He 
did  not  fail  at  the  appointed  hour. 

She  gave  him  apparent  employment  in  the  way  of 
some  little  brushing,  sweeping  and  cleaning,  but  his 
real  employment  was  to  learn  to  read  and  write.  The 
instruction  continued  till  it  began  to  rise  into  the 
realm  of  thought.  Thus  the  school-mistress  dis- 
pelled the  sole  remaining  cloud  of  ignorance  that  hung 
over  Freeburg ;  she  dispelled  it  in  spite  of  the  town. 
Her  action  was  perhaps  not  strictly  legal ;  certainly  it 
was  contrary  to  public  sentiment,  which  was  shocked 
at  a  white  woman  teaching  a  negro.  But  the  world 
of  ideas  as  communicated  from  mind  to  mind  by  the 
printed  page,  was  now  thrown  open  to  the  humblest 
man  in  the  community.  The  dark  shadow  upon  it,  if 
not  wholly  removed,  had  turned  to  a  kind  of  pale 
flickering  moonshine,  which  at  least  foretold  the 
coming  of  the  sun.  But,  chiefly,  Cudjo's  brain  was 
beginning  to  be  a  little  self-luminous.  Moreover  he 
commenced  to  show  great  affection  for  his  teacher. 

In  the  course  of  time,  the  negro  had  passed  to  the 
study  of  geography.  The  idea  of  putting  down  on 
paper  the  whole  earth,  to  be  seen  at  a  glance,  was  at 
first  very  stunning,  but  in  the  end  very  enlightening, 
to  the  African.  He  seemed  now  to  know  for  the  first 
time  where  he  was  and  where  he  was  not.  But  Miss 
Winslow  specially  trained  him  in  studying  the  local- 
ities of  the  Southern  States;  he  turned  to  them  again 
and  again,  after  she  had  completed  her  instruction ; 
by  a  kind  of  instinct  he  had  impressed  them  upon  his 
brain,  feeling  that  he  might  have  use  for  that  sort  of 
geographical   knowledge.     He   once  had  fled  thence 


THE    AFRICAN    IN    FREEBURG.  309 

without  such  knowledge;  he  now  followed  the  de- 
vious path  of  his  flight  on  the  map  with  intense  inter- 
est. He  traced  a  second  path  which  he  would  take, 
if  he  should  ever  be  compelled  to  make  the  same 
journey  again. 

Great  vacant  Africa,  in  those  days  blank  and  un- 
known, he  stared  at,  then  wondered  why  it  was  not 
filled  with  towns  and  cities,  like  other  countries. 
"  That  is  the  home  of  your  people,"  said  Miss  Wins- 
low.  Cudjo's  face  was  suddenly  crossed  with  lines  of 
dislike  and  disgust;  he  turned  over  the  leaf,  and 
never  asked  to  look  at  Africa  again.  But,  in  spite  of 
his  aversion,  he  could  not  help  dreaming  now  and  then 
of  his  own  continent  and  race. 

The  directions  on  the  map  of  the  United  States  — 
East,  West,  North,  South — were  his  special  study. 
His  curiosity  was  often  childish,  but  he  located  himself 
in  the  universe,  which  now  circled  about  him  as  a 
center.  Great  was  the  sense  of  freedom  thus  ac- 
quired ;  he  had  ideally  subjected  to  himself  all  space 
and  all  that  space  contains;  he  had  now  gained  a 
higher  personality.  What  a  vast  unfolding  comes 
through  the  study  of  geography  to  the  infantile  human 
soul !  Space  is  the  first  devil  whom  we  have  to  put 
down,  and  a  shred  of  him  hangs  over  us  to  the  end. 

' '  But ' '  said  he  to  Miss  Winslow  one  evening,  ' '  sup- 
pose I  should  by  some  chance  wake  up  in  the  midst  of 
a  dark  wood  —  how  could  I  know  which  way  is  North, 
or  which  way  is  East?"  The  heavens  were  bright; 
Miss  Winslow  took  him  to  the  window  and  showed  him 
the  North  star.  "  Ah,  yes,  "  he  cried,  "  I  know  that 
bright  boy,  I  have  often  traveled  by  his  light." 


310  THE  FREEBUUGERS. 

She  said  with  a  smile :  ' '  You  may  have  to  do  so 
again." 

*'  But  it  is  sometimes  cloudy  by  night  and  also  by 
day,"  said  Cudjo. 

Miss  Winslow,  rising  at  once,  took  a  candle,  and 
went  to  a  shelf  of  a  case  which  stood  in  the  room. 
She  searched  a  few  moments,  and  soon  found  the  ar- 
ticle which  she  wanted.  It  was  a  small  pocket-com- 
pass. She  explained  its  use,  showed  how  it  pointed 
always  in  one  direction.  She  then  gave  it  to  the  puz- 
zled African,  "  Take  and  keep  it."  Cudjo  was  just  a 
little  startled :   '''Do  you  think  I  shall  have  to  use  it?" 

**  I  do  not  know  —  why  do  you  ask?  " 

"  I  have  been  in  situations  in  which  I  needed  it,  and 
may  be  again,"  said  Cudjo. 

'*  Nobody  can  tell  what  will  happen.  Take  it  and 
learn  to  understand  it." 

The  head  of  Cudjo  buzzed  with  strange  fantastic 
queries,  as  he  went  home  that  night.  He  kept  the 
precious  instrument,  and  tested  it  often ;  he  found  it 
always  true,  and  it  became  to  him  not  merely  a  physi- 
cal pointer,  but  rose  to  be  a  kind  spiritual  guide,  a 
symbol  of  direction,  which  is  unalterable  and  eternal. 
He  made  a  special  pocket  for  it  in  a  secret  part  of  his 
under  garment,  and  he  would  never  allow  it  to  leave 
his  person.  In  fact,  he  let  nobody  know  that  he  had 
such  an  instrument.  He  treasured  it,  he  played  with 
it,  he  loved  it  as  if  it  were  human.  He  came  to  regard 
it  as  a  special  token  of  the  school-mistress,  and  thus 
it  became  his  most  precious,  though  carefully  hidden 
possession. 

Some  of  these  incidents,  however,  had   not  alto- 


THE    AFRICAN    IN   FREEBURQ.  311 

gether  escaped  the  eyes  of  Cudjo's  employer,  Judge 
AUworthy.  He  had  observed  the  change  in  the 
darkey's  pronunciation ;  the  proud  Virginian  found 
the  Yankee  accent  of  Miss  Winslow  creeping  into  his 
very  household.  Next  he  discovered  the  negro  trying 
to  read  in  secret.     He  asked :  — 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  that  book,  Cudjo?  " 

"Just  glancing  into  its  little  black  eyes,"  and  he 
put  it  aside. 

**  Let  me  take  it,"  said  the  Judge. 

It  was  a  much-thumbed  Second  Reader  ;  nobody  in 
the  house  had  any  use  for  such  a  book,  except  Cudjo. 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  the  Judge.  "How  did  you 
learn,  Cudjo?" 

"  I  learned  myself." 

"  It  rained  down  into  your  woolly  pate,  did  it?  " 

The  darkey  grinned,  not  without  a  little  terror. 
He  could  not  exactly  forecast  what  might  be  the 
outcome  of  such  a  discovery,  both  for  himself  and  for 
the  school-mistress.  He  relied  much  upon  the  liberal 
spirit  of  the  Judge,  who  now  continued :  — 

"  You,  too,  have  been  going  to  school  in  Freeburg 
as  well  as  myself." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that  is  so,"  replied  Cudjo. 

The  Judge  again  began  to  reflect:  "The  truth  is, 
we  are  all  learning  our  lesson  from  the  Yankee  school- 
mistress. I  sometimes  wonder  if  she  has  nothing  to 
learn  from  us.  Has  the  discipline  of  life  nothing  for 
her  case  ?  ' ' 

The  Judge  did  not  think  of  making  any  trouble  with 
Cudjo ;  at  present  he  simply  let  the  matter  pass ;  he 
seemed  to  regard  the  whole  affair  as  an  unavoidable 


312  THE  freeburgerS. 

destiny  in  which  he  and  the  time  were  caught  and 
carried  forward.  As  he  went  away  from  Cudjo,  he 
said:  "We  are  all  in  the  stream." 

This  had  become  his  utterance  of  resignation,  which, 
however,  was  by  no  means  devoid  of  hope. 

"We  are  indeed,"  echoed  Cudjo,  when  his  em- 
ployer was  out  of  hearing. 

II. 

Miss  Winslow  had  often  noticed  Cudjo' s  effort  to 
get  rid  of  his  negro  pronunciation,  which  seemed  to 
bother  him  more  than  anything  else.  Every  word  was 
a  sting  upon  his  tongue,  as  long  as  that  taint  affected 
his  speech.  As  Cudjo  loved  to  talk,  he  was  stung 
many  times  a  day.  But  he  succeeded  well  in  master- 
ing the  difficulty,  in  fact,  too  well ;  he  betrayed  his 
school-mistress  in  his  new  language.  His  imitative 
gift  enabled  him  to  catch  not  only  her  ton<es  and  in- 
flections, but  also  her  expressions.  The  Southern 
negro,  too,  began  to  talk  the  Yankee  dialect  in  Free- 
burg.  His  careful  enunciation,  often  recalled  and 
corrected,  had  a  touch  of  the  grotesque,  but  he  dog- 
gedly followed  the  pattern.  All  the  younger  genera- 
tion of  Freeburgers  had  that  same  tinge  of  her 
tongue,  as  well  as  the  cast  of  her  thought.  Even  the 
trick  of  her  handwriting,  as  already  observed,  was 
stamped  upon  the  written  words  of  every  young  lady 
in  the  village ;  Cudjo  could  not  be  blamed  if  he  fol- 
lowed such  bewitching  examples.  He  overdid  his 
imitation,  and  often  rendered  the  school-mistress  and 
her  pupils  comic,  his  caricature  was  so  earnest. 


^HE   AFRICAN    IK   FKEEBtfRO.  Bl(^ 

At  her  lesson  one  day,  she  asked  him  directly: 
"  Why  do  you  try  so  hard  to  get  rid  of  your  manner 
of  talking?  " 

''  I  am  going  to  speak  like  white  folks." 

"  What  reason  have  you  for  that?  Do  you  not  love 
your  race?  " 

'*  I  can  not  say  that  I  do,"  replied  Cudjo. 
L     "  You  ought  to  love  all  men,"  she  said. 
P    *'  But  if  the  white  man  is  the  best  man,  I  want  to  be 
a  white  man." 

Miss  Winslow,  in  justice  to  herself,  could  not  help 
admiring  the  negro's  strong  desire  for  what  is  most 
excellent,  though  it  seemed  now  to  militate  against  her 
doctrine  of  equality.  Cudjo  relentlessly  thrust  at  her 
one  of  her  own  sayings:  "  I  have  often  heard  you  de- 
clare that  we  should  strive  after  the  best;  for  that 
reason  I  want  to  be  a  white  man." 

Miss  Winslow,  feeling  the  edge  of  her  own  apothegm, 
could  only  say :  *'So  you  are  trying  to  change  your 
speech,  are  you,  Cudjo?  " 

The  African  fired  up  again  with  new  flashes  from 
his  eye:  "  Yes,  and  I  am  going  to  change  my  name, 
too  ;  that  detestable  name  Cudjo  which  you  have  just 
used." 

"Tell  me,  how  is  that?  What  do  you  intend  to 
do?"  said  the  woman,  wondering  at  the  crisis  which 
was  transpiring  in  the  man. 

He  answered:  "  Cudjo  is  the  name  of  a  nigger;  I 
brought  it  with  me  from  slavery,  it  is  my  disgrace,  but 
I  shall  throw  it  off,  it  belongs  to  me  no  more." 

"  In  what  way  can  you  bring  that  about?"  asked 
Miss  Winslow. 


314  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

*'I  intend  to  quit  this  place  in  order  to  get  rid  of 
it;  I  can  never  be  free  of  its  stain  while  I  stay  here." 

"  I  suppose  that  is  so,"  said  Miss  Winslow.  "  You 
intend  to  go  away  then ;  but  tell  me,  to  what  part  of 
the  country?  " 

"  I  am  going  off  to  school/' 

'*  Where?  "  demanded  Miss  Winslow,  with  increased 
curiosity  at  the  new  ambition  of  her  black  pupil. 

"To  Howardtown,  a  school  in  which  all  are  equal," 
said  the  African  in  a  tone  of  elevation. 

"  Who  told  you  about  that  place?  " 

"Henry  Firestone.  He  intends  going  himself,  and 
has  offered  to  help  me.  1  shall  begin  over  again, 
change  my  name,  get  an  education,  and  be  another 
man.  He  has  promised  never  to  mention  my  present 
name,  when  we  are  there  together." 

Miss  Winslow  was  surprised  to  find  her  own  advice 
and  instruction  cropping  out  in  such  a  strange  soil. 
She  bad  cast  many  seeds  to  the  winds,  but  this  was 
her  most  miraculous,  most  unexpected  plant.  There 
is  no  doubt  she  was  pleased.  The  negro,  too,  was 
pleased,  especially  with  her  pleasure.  A  strong 
passion  had  already  entered  his  heart  for  his  pale- 
faced  instructress.     How  could  he  help  it? 

After  some  little  rumination,  she  began  again: 
"  Well,  Cudjo,"  —  but  the  African  at  once  broke  in, 
with  sweet  pleasure  turning  sour:  "There  I  shall 
have  another  name."  Miss  Winslow  observed  the 
offense  which  she  had  unintentionally  given,  and 
begged  the  negro's  pardon  with  her  most  winning 
look.  She  saw  that  to  him  the  change  was  to  be  a  new 
baptism,  accompanied  with  a  new  designation  for  him- 


THE   ArtltCAN    IN    PREEBURO.  o15 

self;  he  seemed  to  be  entering  a  religious  order  in 
which  the  old  secular  name  was  left  behind. 

If  Miss  Winslow  was  astonished,  she  was  also 
amused  ;  she  spoke  with  a  smile  which  sought  to  call 
forth  a  laugh  from  him  in  response:  "When  your 
name  is  changed  from  that  of  a  black  man,  do  you 
think  too,  that  your  cuticle  will  turn  white?"  The 
darkey  did  not  show  the  expected  laugh  in  reply  to 
this  question,  which  had  been  asked  once  before  by  the 
pedestrian.  In  reply  he  stiffened  himself  up  and 
seemed  to  summon  all  his  strength ;  putting  on  at  the 
same  time  his  most  serious  look,  he  answered:  "  Even 
that;  yes,  just  that." 

Miss  Winslow  was  a  little  puzzled,  perhaps  a  little 
frightened  at  the  determined  appearance  of  the  man ; 
he  evidently  deemed  himself  at  that  moment  capable  of 
rising  to  any  height,  social  or  intellectual.  She 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  boundless  aspiration  of  his  care- 
fully disguised  soul ;  she  did  not  know  what  he  might 
aspire  for  next.  She  secretly  felt  his  rising  am- 
bition ;  in  her  trepidation  she  took  a  step  backward 
and  cast  her  glances  aside,  somewhere  on  the  floor. 

Cudjo,  on  his  part  also,  was  somewhat  startled  at 
his  own  boldness.  But,  as  he  had  spoken  the  in- 
most thought  of  his  heart,  it  must  stay  spoken ;  the 
time  had  come  for  him  to  declare  what  was  in  him. 
He  rose  and  paced  the  floor  for  a  moment ;  he  came 
back  and  braced  himself  up  courageously ;  he  had  re- 
solved to  confess  to  Miss  Winslow  the  hidden  article 
of  his  faith.  He  laid  his  forefinger  across  the  corner 
of  his  mouth,  he  gave  a  mysterious  look  into  her  eyes, 
and  began   almost  in   a  whisper   after  casting   some 


316  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

glances  around  the  room.  These  motions  did  not  tend 
to  Miss  Winslow's  comfort,  though  her  curiosity  was 
as  yet  greater  than  her  terror. 

The  story  which  the  negro  now  told,  we  shall,  while 
keeping  it  in  the  first  person,  have  to  abridge  and 
modify  somewhat,  as  it  was  expanded  to  great  length, 
and  was  tricked  out  with  many  wild  flowers  of  African 
fancy.  There  was  in  him  a  strong  mythical  element ; 
his  experiences,  when  they  deepened  beyond  ordinary 
life,  had  a  tendency  to  assume  the  form  of  the  fairy 
tale.  His  spirit,  if  fully  aroused,  could  not  help  taking 
a  flight  into  Wonderland  ;  though  even  there,  in  the 
I  realm  of  fiction,  it  was  telling  the  profoundest  fact  of 
itself.  But  in  the  present  case,  Cud  jo's  story  was  an 
actual  occurrence,  with  little  golden  threads  of  fable 
running  through  it  and  holding  it  together.  Somehow 
in  this  fashion  it  ran :  — 

' '  Far  away  in  the  South  dwells  the  Black  Prophet  of 
the  Swamp,  who  once  told  me  that  I  was  to  become  a 
white  man.  Ever  since  that  moment  I  have  treasured 
what  he  said  to  me,  as  the  very  purpose  of  my  own 
existence.  He  lived  in  a  great  swamp ;  in  the  middle 
of  it  was  an  island  which  was  so  thickly  covered  with 
trees  and  brushwood,  that  it  seemed  set  there  like  night 
in  the  day-time.  But  in  the  center  of  the  island  was  a 
small  cleared  spot,  and  in  the  middle  of  this  spot 
stood  a  little  cabin,  in  which  he  stayed  alone,  since  he 
permitted  no  human  being  to  share  permanently  his 
solitude.  The  sun  shone  full  upon  his  lonely  habita- 
tion, while  everywhere  around  it  the  light  was  cut  off 
and  darkness  reigned.  He  was  not  molested,  in  fact 
his  place  was  not  known  to  a  single  white  man,  though 


THE    AFRICAN    IX    FREEBURG.  317 

the  people  of  the  surrounding  districts  had  heard 
strange  stories  about  him,  which  they  attributed  to  Af- 
rican superstition. 

"  The  blacks,  however,  knew  him  well,  and  kept  up  a 
regular  communication  with  him,  though  very  few  paid 
him  a  personal  visit.  One  or  two  of  the  hardiest 
spirits  would  stealthily  go  to  his  abode  at  stated  inter- 
vals, and  bring  thence  his  utterances.  Ho  told  to  his 
people  the  future.  He  directed  their  movements  in 
important  matters.  Whatever  was  common  to  them 
all  went  back  to  him  as  the  center.  He  was  the  heart 
of  his  race,  and  sent  out  to  them  the  life-blood  of 
hope. 

"Above  all  things,  he  inculcated  patience,  which, 
he  said,  was  the  strongest  weapon  of  the  African.  He 
would  not  permit  insurrections ;  more  than  once  he 
has  stopped  them  when  they  were  on  the  point  of 
breaking  out.  He  made  laws,  he  uttered  prophecies ; 
he  said  the  black  race  must  serve  out  its  time,  and 
then  it  would  be  set  free.  He  also  declared  that  the 
moment  of  deliverance  was  rapidly  coming,  and  that  it 
could  not  be  reached  by  resistance  but  by  endurance. 

"  He  had  learned  to  read  and  write,  but  nobody  knew 
when  or  how.  He  coined  proverbs  for  his  people  and 
sent  them  abroad  through  his  visitors.  He  was  also  a 
great  maker  of  tales,  many  of  which  are  still  told  by 
the  hearth  in  the  negro's  hut.  Even  verses  he  could 
produce ;  a  few  of  these  you  can  hear  in  the  cotton 
field  and  in  the  camp  meeting.  He  had  some  books ; 
at  least  I  saw  two  or  three  in  his  cabin,  but  I  could 
not  then  read  even  their  titles. 

"  I  once  went  to  his  island  ;  in  spite  of  the  frightful 


318  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

accounts  of  the  way  thither,  I  started  alone,  resolved 
to  behold  with  my  own  eyes  the  Black  Prophet  and  to 
hear  his  prophecy.  To  do  so  had  become  the  first 
need  of  my  life.  I  made  a  light  canoe,  and  passed  one 
day  into  the  swamp,  carrying  it  on  my  back.  I  waded 
through  the  heavy  grass  and  shallow  waters ;  then  I 
came  to  a  place  where  I  had  to  use  my  canoe.  The 
cj^press  hung  above  me  and  shaded  me  like  night; 
vast  masses  of  foliage  drooped  from  a  leafy  ceiling  of 
intertwining  limbs ;  matted  vines  bearing  huge  flowers 
were  suspended  on  the  trees  and  fell  down  into  the 
water,  thus  dividing  that  vast  palace  of  the  swamp 
into  many  thousand  rooms,  whose  walls  were  made  of 
green  tapestry.     What  toil !  what  terror !  what  beauty ! 

*'But  the  plants  and  the  waters  were  the  least 
obstacle.  Wild  animals  stood  on  my  path,  which  I 
had  to  frighten  away  and  sometimes  to  kill ;  poisonous 
snakes  reared  their  heads  and  hissed,  or  lay  hid  in  the 
grass  and  coiled  up  ready  for  a  spring  upon  the  in- 
truder. Little  insects,  the  fly,  the  gnat,  the  mosquito, 
that  had  sucked  up  all  the  venom  of  the  swamp,  stung 
me  till  the  swollen  hand  could  hardly  pull  the  oar.  It 
was  a  dark,  fearful  journey  on  M^hich  black  men  had 
often  perished.  I  shall  never  forget  it,  yet  I  would 
undertake  it  again  to  see  that  man's  face  and  to  hear 
his  voice  once  more. 

"At  last  I  reached  the  border  of  the  island.  But 
the  sun  had  gone  down ;  a  wall  of  night,  filled  with  a 
dense  undergrowth  of  shrub,  limb  and  leaf,  even  with 
wild  beasts  and  reptiles,  closed  me  around ;  I  crouched 
down  in  silence  and  waited  for  the  morning.  I  pushed 
the  branches  aside ;   I  came  to  a  vast  cane-brake,  in 


THE    AFRICAN    IN    FREEBURG.  319 

which  I  was  for  a  time  lost ;  but  I  cut  a  pole  and 
dragged  it,  that  I  might  keep  in  the  same  direction 
till  I  reached  the  end.  Bears  and  panthers  would 
crash  around  me  in  the  reeds,  but  I  escaped  and  came 
to  the  clearing  in  which  stood  the  little  hut. 

*'  Here  all  was  changed.  The  light  of  day  fell  upon 
the  face  of  the  earth  once  more,  the  soil  smiled  with 
cultivation,  the  plants  and  the  animals,  instead  of 
fighting  man,  were  mild  and  sought  his  friendship. 
Nature  was  transformed  in  look ;  she  now  saluted  me, 
and  offered  to  help  me.  Everything  spoke  of  a  new 
world  attained  after  a  long  dark  wandering.  I  could 
not  help  shouting.  Glory  ! 

'*  Before  the  door  of  the  hut  sat  the  old  man  ;  it  was 
said  that  he  was  more  than  one  hundred  years  of  age. 
His  voice  was  still  firm ;  he  stood  up  erect  to  receive 
me.  His  long  white  hair  hung  down  his  shoulders ; 
his  beard,  like  the  silent  snow,  fell  upon  his  breast  and 
lay  there ;  his  face  and  hands  were  also  white.  His 
venerable  face  saluted  me  with  a  cordial  welcome,  ere 
his  lips  stirred  to  speak ;  he  invited  me  to  a  repast  in 
his  first  words.  He  lived  on  the  simplest  food,  which 
he  freely  offered  to  his  famished  guest,  who  ate  it  and 
felt  a  new  sense  of  life.  How  absolute  the  peace ! 
The  rank  jungle  around  him,  the  bear,  the  snake,  the 
insect,  even  the  ferocious  vegetation,  seemed  to  be 
subdued  by  his  presence. 

"  I  had  always  heard  him  called  the  Black  Prophet, 
but  it  were  truer  to  call  him  the  White  Prophet  of  the 
blacks.  I  expressed  my  surprise  at  his  color.  He 
said  to  me :  'I  was  once  a  negro  and  a  slave,  but  as 
long  as  I  remained  in  that  condition  I  was  black.      My 


320  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

heart  began  to  stir  within  me,  I  resolved  to  throw  off 
my  bonds,  and  to  reach  freedom  ;  I  fled  to  the  swamp  ; 
after  daj's  of  wandering,  I  passed  through  it,  and  came 
to  this  island,  where  I  cleared  the  land  and  put  up 
this  dwelling.  The  transformation  at  once  began  in 
me,  and  continued  for  hundreds  of  moons ;  I  secretly 
went  back  to  my  people  and  told  them  the  news ;  the 
Lord  has  washed  me  white  as  snow  in  this  life.  What 
I  have  lived  through,  all  blacks  must  live  through ; 
what  my  many  years  have  done  tor  me,  many  ages 
will  do  for  my  people ;  I  am  the  forerunner  and  the 
foreteller  of  my  race.' 

"  After  hearing  his  words,  my  soul  was  full ;  I  felt 
the  courage  to  return  through  the  swamp,  whose  hard- 
ships and  terrors  had  made  me  wilt  with  cowardice. 
I  had  been  where  no  white  man  had  ever  penetrated  ; 
I  had  heard  the  voice  of  the  Black  Prophet,  and  was 
thrilled  with  his  message,  which  has  stayed  with  me 
ever  since." 

Miss  Winslow  listened  with  much  wonder  and  no 
little  incredulity  to  the  wild  story  of  the  African. 
She  asked:  "How  does  it  come  that  they  did  not 
pursue  the  fugitive?  " 

Cudjo  answered  :  "  The  white  people  knew  little  of 
him  ;  his  master,  a  Southerner  of  the  good  old  type, 
said  that  even  the  black  man  must  follow  his  call, 
and  if  his  call  be  to  run  away,  let  him  go  by  all 
means.  It  was  also  a  principle,  with  some  conscien- 
tious slaveholders  in  those  days,  not  to  have  unwilling 
slaves ;  thus  they  said  that  there  was  no  involuntary 
servitude  in  their  household.  Moreover  the  Prophet, 
well  knowing  his  people,  preached  a  passive  submis- 


THE   AFRICAN    IN   FREEBURG.  321 

sion  to  their  great  trial  —  a  doctrine  well  suited  not 
only  to  the  cringing  negro,  but  to  domineering 
master." 

In  these  last  words  Cud  jo  showed  a  little  touch  of 
bitterness,  in  spite  of  his  veneration  for  the  Black 
Prophet.  Miss  Winslow  caught  him  up  at  this  point, 
and  put  a  question  to  him :  — 

"  But  you,  it  seems,  ran  away  before  you  had 
patiently  served  out  your  time  ;  why  did  you  do  so?  " 

Cudjo  chuckled:  "I  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
my  time  was  up." 

"  Did  the  Black  Prophet  tell  you  so?  " 

Cudjo  squirmed  a  little  and  answered:  *'  No,  not 
exactly.  He  told  me  if  I  ran  off,  they  would  try  to 
catch  me ;  try  often,  and  fail. 

*'  Is  that  all  he  said  to  you?  " 

Cudjo  was  silent  a  moment  in  thought.  At  last  he 
spoke:  "He  told  me  that  they  would  finally  seize 
me  and  put  me  back  into  my  former  condition.  I  can 
still  see  the  old  man's  eyes,  as  he  looked  at  me  and 
through  me,  saying:  'You  are  not  yet  ready  ;  j^ou 
have  not  ended  your  discipline ;  something  is  yet  to 
be  trained  out  of  you  by  servitude.'  But  that  part  of 
the  prophecy  has  not  yet  come  to  pass,"  added  Cudjo 
with  a  gratified  giggle. 

"  Do  you  believe  it  will  be  fulfilled,"  asked  Miss 
Winslow. 

The  negro  responded  in  a  flippant  vein,  which 
he  had  not  yet  shown:  "1  do  not  intend  to  let  it. 
Some  prophecies  must  be  fulfilled  and  man  cannot 
stop  them ;  others  will  be  fulfilled  unless  you  stop 
them." 


322  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

"  What  was  the  last  thing  the  Black  Prophet  said  to 

you?- 

"As  I  was  leaving  he  took  me  by  the  hand  and 
spoke  in  a  very  certain  tone :  '  I  shall  see  you  again, 
you  will  have  to  come  back  to  me.'  But  I  have  not  yet 
gone,  and  I  think  I  shall  not.  In  that  matter  I  can  be 
my  own  prophet." 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Cudjo  Bell,  while  giving  this 
account,  underwent  a  change.  His  first  words  concern- 
ing the  Black  Prophet  were  rapt,  full  of  reverence ; 
the  last  turned  to  doubt,  almost  to  a  sneer.  He  had 
fallen  into  a  kind  of  insolence  which  is  of  itself  pro- 
phetic, and  often  brings  fulfillment  of  what  it  defies. 
_  Miss  Winslow  observed  the  transformation,  and  in- 
cidentally remarked:  *' Your  faith  is  not,  then,  very 
strong  in  3'our  seer.  Like  many  other  followers  of 
the  sages,  you  believe  what  you  like,  and  what  j^ou 
dislike  you  throw  away." 

Cudjo  recovered  himself  a  little  and  grew  more 
serious:  "One  thing  I  treasure;  the  Black  Prophet 
said  I  was  to  become  a  white  man." 

He  rose  and  cast  a  strange  glance  at  the  white 
woman  who  felt  in  him  some  mighty  but  indefinite 
aspiration,  the  nature  of  which  she  did  not  fully  un- 
derstand. It  was  getting  late  ;  she  seized  her  bonnet 
and  started  homewards  ;  the  negro  loitered  at  the  door 
till  she  passed  by  him  ;  he  followed  behind  at  an  equal 
pace  and  sought  to  converse  with  her  still ;  once  be 
stepped  up  to  her  side,  when  she  darted  rapidly  ahead, 
and  soon  glided  into  the  door  of  her  dwelling.  When 
she  was  in  her  room,  she  reviewed  all  the  occurrences 
of  the  afternoon  j  she  felt  the  tendency  of  the  African, 


THE    AFRICAN    IN    FREEBURG.  323 

and  the  need  of  training  him  in  a  new  branch  of  edu- 
cation. After  all  she  was  not  yet  quite  ready  for  his 
unreserved  companionship.  She  had  given  him  a 
lesson  in  reading  hints,  which  lesson  few  men,  white 
or  black,  can  learn  at  the  first  trial. 

III. 

Cudjo  had  been, -for  a  good  while,  the  sole  black 
man  in  Freeburg.  But  another  darkey  had  come  into 
the  neighborhood,  though  he  did  not  stay  in  the  vil- 
lage. Miss  Winslow  met  him  one  day,  and  full  of  her 
new  mission  asked  him  to  call  and  do  some  errands. 
This  was  but  a  pretext,  in  order  to  get  hold  of  him  and 
start  him  on  the  road  to  light.  She  was  going  to  do 
for  Sambo  what  she  had  already  done  for  Cudjo.  A 
beginning  was  made  with  the  second  negro  ;  but  a  day 
or  so  afterward,  late  in  the  evening,  a  short  distance 
from  the  school-house,  he  was  fallen  upon  and  beaten 
by  a  man  in  a  mask.  He  was  allowed  to  go,  on 
promising  that  he  would  that  night  leave  the  country. 
He  suddenly  disappeared  and  was  seemingly  not 
missed  by  anybody  but  the  school-mistress. 

Meanwhile  Cudjo  had  begun  to  read  books.  Un- 
doubtedly the  mental  girth  of  the  African  slowly  ex- 
panded ;  but  his  gift  of  speech  grew  prodigiously,  out 
of  all  proportion  to  his  increase  of  ideas.  Some  of 
these,  however,  sent  vivid  flashes  through  his  dark 
Ethiopian  brain.  The  Bible  was  put  into  his  hands  — 
the  supreme  book  of  consolation.  It  has  more  hope 
for  the  oppressed,  more  elevation  for  the  lowly,  than 
any  other  writ.     Its  two   greatest   stories  —  those  of 


324  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

Moses  and  of  Christ  —  wrought  upon  the  negro's 
mind  with  unequal  power.  The  Old  Testament,  nearer 
to  the  childhood  of  the  race,  was  emphatically  Cudjo's 
book.  The  account  of  the  Egyptian  captivity  and  the 
deliverance  of  Israel  by  the  hand  of  the  Lord  in  a 
miraculous  manner,  started  and  always  will  start  a 
mighty  response  in  the  African  imagination,  which 
seems  therein  to  go  back  to  its  old  home,  not  far  from 
the  land  of  Egypt.  Especially  the  passage  of  the  Red 
Sea,  since  made  into  an  emblem  for  a  thousand  such 
passages  spiritually  and  physically,  raised  an  oceanic 
pulsation  in  Cudjo's  heart.  But  the  children  of  Israel, 
though  free,  were  still  in  the  wilderness,  and  longed 
for  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt.  This  part  of  the  story 
the  black  man  did  not  understand  so  well,  yet  he  felt 
it  too. 

The  account  of  Christ,  the  highest,  the  son  of  God, 
who  became  the  humblest,  was  touching  and  enkind- 
ling to  the  poor  soul.  But  that  he  should  give  him- 
self as  a  sacrifice  to  those  who  crucified  him,  was  not 
a  clear  case  to  Cudjo.  Moreover,  this  negro  felt  no 
desire  of  sacrificing  himself  for  his  race,  as  he  believed 
his  race  was  unworthy  of  him  ;  he  sought  to  become  a 
white  man.  and  all  negroes  ought  to  have  the  same 
purpose,  and  thus  make  themselves  vanish. 

The  most  peculiar  and  the  most  contradictory  trait 
in  Cudjo  Bell,  the  most  difficult  thing  to  understand 
fully,  was  his  dislike,  his  utter  contempt  for  his  own 
race ;  in  fact  this  feeling  often  amounted  to  positive 
hatred.  He  was  inhuman  at  this  point ;  his  good- 
nature, ordinarily  playful  as  a  kitten,  would  turn  acrid 
at  the  sight  of  a  black  face.     He  hated  his  own  skin  ; 


THE    AFRICAIS^    IN   FREEBURG.  325 

he  would  have  flayed  himself  alive,  if  he  had  believed 
he  could  thereby  have  changed  its  color.  He  was  de- 
termined, in  his  heart,  to  remain  the  sole  black  man 
in  Freeburg,  till  he  had  become  white. 

Just  as  little  would  he  tolerate  the  black  woman. 
No  greater  insult  could  be  offered  him  than  to  intimate 
that  such  a  person  might  be  his  wife.  To  continue 
the  black  race  was  not  only  a  wrong  in  his  eyes,  but  a 
kind  of  diabolism.  His  view  of  the  black  woman  was 
very  candid.  Said  he:  "She  does  not  want  a  black 
man,  when  a  white  man  is  around.  She  wishes  her 
child  to  be  white,  or  as  near  so  as  possible.  And  why 
should  she  not  seek  to  bear  a  better  son  than  she  is?  " 

''  Then,  Cudjo,"  said  a  by-stander  once  (it  was  not 
Miss  Winslow  who  now  was  talking),  "you  ought  not 
to  despise  her." 

"  I  do  not  despise  this  trait,"  he  replied,  "it  is  the 
best  thing  about  her,  she  will  not  have  a  black  man  if 
she  can  help  it." 

In  this  matter,  Cudjo  was  a  practical  Darwinist. 
He  saw  the  struggle  for  existence  going  on  in  the  race, 
and  the  fittest  surviving.  Nature  strove  for  the  ex- 
cellent, and  selected  the  white  in  preference  to  the 
black.  To  be  sure,  this  process  took  place  through 
moral  violation,  but  nature  often  worked  out  her  pur- 
poses in  defiance  of  morality.  Cudjo  was  inclined  to 
regard  the  negro  woman  in  the  main  as  faithless  to  the 
family,  but  obedient  to  instinct.  As  far  as  he  was 
concerned,  he  had  renounced  the  family  in  his  own 
race.  The  spark  of  love  had  never  entered  his  bosom 
but  once  ;  in  youth  the  fiery  eyes  of  an  octoroon  had 
roused  a  sudden   emotion ;    but  when  he  came  to  his 


326  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

senses,  even  she  was  too  dark  for  him,  and  he  re- 
nounced. 

One  day  Miss  Winslow  succeeded  in  getting  from 
him  his  views  concerning  his  own  ancestry,  about  which 
he  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping  silent.  "  My  father," 
said  Cudjo,  "was  captured  in  war,  and  brought  from 
Africa,  where  he  was  a  king.  He  was  sold  and  car- 
ried to  a  plantation  in  chains,  but  he  would  not  work ; 
he  fought  his  master,  broke  the  head  of  his  overseer, 
and  made  a  spring  for  the  woods,  where  he  lived  in 
defiance  of  his  pursuers.  At  last-  a  compromise 
reconciled  him,  he  was  acknowledged  a  king  and  al- 
lowed to  exercise  rojalty.  He  was  appointed  over- 
seer, and  given  authority,  which  he  exercised  without 
control  and  without  mercy.  The  black  men  and  women 
he  regarded  as  slaves,  and  treated  them  as  such.  Now 
he  worked  and  made  others  work ;  he  won  distinction, 
but  all,  both  white  and  black,  feared  him.  Finally  he 
claimed  his  master's  daughter ;  he  thought  he  had 
earned  a  white  wife  by  his  merit." 

Cudjo  stopped  a  moment,  and  Miss  Winslow  asked 
with  interest :   "  How  did  it  turn  out?  " 

The  negro  replied  with  a  strange  energy  in  his 
words:  "  When  she  afterward  married  another  man, 
who  was  white,  in  a  fit  of  jealousy  he  slew  himself 
after  trying  to  kill  her  and  her  husband.  " 

Cudjo  told  this  story  in  a  way  that  showed  he  en- 
tered into  its  spirit  fully.  It  sounded,  especially  at 
the  end,  as  if  he  had  his  father  in  himself.  Miss  Win- 
slow  again  felt  a  little  startled ;  she  had  called  up  the 
sleeping  demon  in  the  African,  and  had  seen  the  fire 
flash  from  his  eyes ;  she  was  terrified  at  a  look,  which, 


THE    AFRICAN    IN    FREEBURG.  327 

she  felt,  might  turn  to  the  savage  glare  of  jealousy. 
But  she  was  courageous,  she  went  on  with  the  in- 
struction ;  there  was,  however,  at  times  some  misgiv- 
ing. 

The  other  negro  had  not  come  to  take  a  lesson  for 
several  days ;  she  wondered,  as  he  had  seemed  eager 
to  learn ;  finally  she  asked  Cudjo  where  Sambo  was. 
He  said  he  did  not  know.  But  his  manner  indicated 
that  he  did  know,  or  was  much  interested  in  not 
knowing.  Miss  Winslow  pressed  the  question,  when 
Cudjo  gave  that  wild  African  gleam  from  the  eye, 
which  belongs  not  to  the  descendants  of  slaves,  but 
of  princes.  He  mumbled  sullenly,  "  I  am  not  his 
keeper.** 

"Yes,  Cudjo,'*  replied  Miss  Winslow,  "you  are 
your  brother's  keeper,  and  within  your  ability  to 
help  him,  you  are  responsible  for  him.*' 

The  negro  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  said  nothing. 
Miss  Winslow  went  on  :  — 

**  You  have  read  in  the  Old  Testament.  You  know 
who  once  asked  this  same  question.  It  was  Cain,  the 
first  murderer,  who  slew  his  brother  out  of  envy." 

Miss  Winslow  did  not  know  where  or  how  severely 
she  had  struck  her  pupil,  who  went  off  in  silence.  As 
he  passed  out  of  the  door,  she  thought  she  heard  him 
mutter  something  to  himself  —  a  thing  which  he  had 
never  done  before  in  her  presence.  But  she  certainly 
saw  him  make  a  gesture  which  caused  her  to  shiver; 
she  felt  that  she  had  seen  that  gesture  before  in  some 
strong  terror,  but  she  could  not,  at  the  moment, 
remember  when  or  where. 


3:28  THE   FREEBURGERS. 


IV 


Cudjo  still  kept  up  his  reading,  and  appropriated 
words  in  a  wonderful  way,  if  not  always  the  corre- 
sponding ideas.  He  had  found  a  locked  book-case  in 
the  house ;  it  contained  his  employer's  library  of  choice 
Enghsh  books.  The  Judge  had  already  discovered 
that  the  black  fellow  could  read,  having  at  various 
times  come  upon  him  with  a  book  or  with  a  newspaper 
in  his  hand,  and  having  commanded  him  to  pronounce 
certain  sentences  which  stood  in  print.  The  Judge 
would  say:  "This  is  some  of  Miss  Winslow's  work 
again."  Cudjo  would  look  anxious,  but  never  denied 
the  statement.  Judge  James  Allworthy,  however,  was 
not  the  man  to  lag  in  generosity,  not  the  man  to  smother 
aspiration  in  an  humble  soul.  He  said,  on  one  of  these 
occasions,  unlocking  his  library:  "I  must  not  fall 
behind  the  school-mistress  in  giving  you  a  chance.  Do 
you  see  those  books  ?  ' ' 

''I  see  them  plainly,"  said  Cudjo. 

*' They  are  yours  as  far  as  you  wish  to  use  them. 
Help  yourself. ' '  The  Judge  threw  open  the  door  of  the 
book-case,  and  the  negro  bowed  and  expressed  his 
gratitude. 

''What  book  do  you  want?"  asked  the  Judge. 

Cudjo' s  eye  ran  over  the  titles  of  volumes  on  a 
shelf,  he  settled  upon  one,  and  said :  — 

"  This  is  a  book  about  which  I  have  often  heard  ;  I 
would  like  to  try  it." 

"What  is  it?" 

*'  The  works  of  William  Shakespeare." 


THE    AFRICAN    IX   FREEBURG.  329 

* '  Take  it  with  you ;  there  is  much  wisdom  in  the 
book  if  you  can  get  it  out." 

The  African  carried  the  volume  to  his  room  above 
the  stable,  prizing  it  as  a  rare  treasure.  He  turned 
over  its  leaves  and  found  it  full  of  illustrations.  One 
of  the  pictures  showed  a  dark  woolly  head  and  a  beau- 
tiful white  woman  in  a  position  not  by  any  means  antag- 
onistic to  each  other.  Underneath  he  saw  the  printed 
words :  Othello  and  Desdemona.  His  gaze  was  long  and 
dreamful  upon  the  cut,  which  spoke  to  him  in  a  strange 
way.  He  had  vaguely  heard  of  their  story  before, 
and  it  floated  through  his  imagination  in  cloudy  out- 
lines, into  which  his  own  history  seemed  often  to 
blend. 

He  noticed  the  play  to  which  the  picture  belonged, 
and  began  his  first  reading  of  the  great  dramatist. 
The  wild  fancy  at  once  caught  his  African  nature  ;  it 
seemed  to  have  traces  of  the  untamed  tropical  jungle, 
which  produces  the  ferocious  monsters  of  the  earth  — 
serpents,  tigers,  anthropoids.  He  loved  those  mighty 
words  of  the  poet,  even  when  he  did  not  know  their 
meaning ;  in  them  he  heard  the  roar  and  the  hiss  and 
the  howl  of  a  long-suppressed  nature.  He  was  su- 
premely fascinated  with  the  leading  character,  who 
seemed  to  have  all  Africa  inside  of  him,  yet  with 
Europe's  polish  on  the  outside.  Cud  jo  saw  himself, 
saw  his  father  in  that  black  prince,  and  felt  the  truth 
of  Shakespeare.  He  could  not  leave  the  book,  he 
absorbed  it,  though  much  of  it  he  could  not  under- 
stand. The  language,  word  for  word,  he  was  not 
always  able  to  explain,  still  he  knew  the  whole,  knew 
it  well.     He  felt  the  poetic  genius  crash  through  all 


330  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

the  intervening  obstacles ;  not  only  the  sound  of  the 
words,  but  their  very  look  on  the  page  could  start 
the  earthquake.  He  pored  over  the  book,  caressed  it, 
slept  with  it,  and  finally  carried  it  to  Miss  Winslow, 
that  she  might  help  him  out  with  the  meaning  of  cer- 
tain expressions. 

Miss  Winslow  was,  of  course,  surprised.  *'  What !" 
she  cried  "  reading  Shakespeare  already,  the  most 
difficult  English  classic!  Even  our  Literary  Club 
finds  it  hard  to  get  anything  out  of  him,  or,  rather,  to 
put  anything  into  him.  I  think  you  ought  not  to  try 
to  read  such  an  author  at  present.  But  go  ahead,  let 
us  see  what  you  can  do  with  him.  Make  your  own 
selection." 

The  negro  chose,  without  any  prompting,  the 
speech  of  Othello  before  the  Venetian  Senate. 

Most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  signiors, 
My  very  noble,  and  approved  good  masters, 
That  I  have  ta'en  away  this  old  man's  daughter, 
It  is  most  true ;  true  I  have  married,  her. 

Cudjo  showed  at  once  that  he  had  the  piece  by 
heart.  What  a  revelation  to  Miss  Winslow !  What  a 
thoroughgoing  emphasis  at  the  vital  points !  What  a 
real  thing  was  the  whole  delivery,  even  in  its  mis- 
takes! What  a  significant  look  he  gave  along  with 
that  magic  word  married  ! 

It  showed  the  black  man  in  his  glory,  the  hero,  the 
prince,  the  foremost  general  of  the  land,  the  African, 
pleading  before  the  aristocratic  Senate,  for  his  white 
wife,  daughter  of  one  of  the  Senators,  the  white  wife 
whom  he  had  won  by  his  merits.     And  he  carries  her 


THE    AFRICAN    IN   FREEBURG.  331 

off  in  the  very  presence  of  the  State  and  of  her 
father.     Heavens  !  what  a  triumph ! 

Cudjo  rose  and  swelled  with  a  new  importance 
when  he  wound  up  that  speech.  Yet  Miss  Winslow 
heard  in  it  an  ominous  undertone,  which  portended 
some  great  upheaval ;  in  the  very  words  lay  a  pre- 
sentiment of  the  reckoning  to  come. 

The  two  chatted  together  for  a  while,  when  she, 
testing  him,  said:  "  That  marriage,  however,  jvas  not 
the  end  of  the  story." 

"  I  know  it  well,"  said  Cudjo. 

"That  which  you  read,"  continued  Miss  Winslow, 
"was  the  comic  or  happy  part;  then,  when  the  pair, 
Othello  and  Desdemona  I  mean,  were  left  to  them- 
selves, the  tragedy  followed." 

"  Othello  was  right,"  said  Cudjo,  with  a  little  flash 
from  the  eye. 

"What!  in  killing  Desdemona?  " 

"Yes,  my  lady." 

"  How  can  you  think  that?  " 

Miss  Winslow  seemed  to  be  led  by  an  evil  spirit 
to  walk  upon  the  very  ground  which  she  wished  to 
avoid.  She  had  already  felt  the  rising  demon  in  Cudjo, 
had  felt  it  repeatedly,  and  still  a  sort  of  fatality  drove 
her  onward  to  provoke  what  she  sought  to  allay.  The 
negro  walked  excitedly  up  and  down  the  room,  and 
then  let  out  the  words  that  were  burning  within 
his  bosom :  — 

"I  would  do  the  same  deed,  were  I  in  Othello's 
place." 

''You  may  be  in  his  place  at  some  time,"  spake 
that  fatal  tongue  of  the  school-mistress. 


332  THE   FREF.BURGERS. 

"Possibly  I  am  now." 

Through  these  dark  words  there  flashed  from  Cudjo's 
eyes  a  fierce  light,  which  made  their  meaning  lumin- 
ous. He  snatched  up  the  book,  and  again  began  to 
read  in  a  sort  of  frenzy.  It  was  the  passage  where 
Othello,  in  a  paroxysm  of  jealousy  and  doubt,  seizes 
his  torturer,  lago,  by  the  throat,  and  exclaims :  — 

»    "  Villain,  be  sure  thou  prove  — 

Be  sure  of  it;  give  me  the  ocular  proof, 
Or,  by  the  worth  of  man's  eternal  soul, 
Thou  hadst  been  better  have  been  born  a  dog, 
Than  answer  my  wak'd  wrath.'* 

In  giving  these  words,  the  negro  twisted  and  coiled 
and  bellowed.  He  was  frightful  to  behold  ;  he  seemed 
not  merely  to  show  the  characteristics,  but  also  to 
utter  the  sounds  of  the  African  jungle  —  the  roar  of 
the  lion,  the  hiss  of  the  anaconda,  the  click  of  the 
ape ;  along  with  them  he  had  the  stealthy  spring  of 
the  tiger. 

But  there  was  one  special  note  in  this  scale  of  ani- 
mal music,  which  caused  Miss  Winslow  the  strongest 
shudder.  When  Cudjo  pronounced  the  word  villain 
in  the  above  passage,  she  heard  the  same  unearthly 
growl  which  came  through  the  broken  window-pane, 
on  the  night  when  the  stone  was  hurled.  The  cause 
of  that  act  had  remained  a  mystery.  It  flashed 
through  her  mind  that  she  now  had  before  her  the  doer 
of  that  piece  of  mischief.  Gradually,  too,  she  had 
begun  to  perceive  the  motive  which  led  to  the  act. 
But  her  thoughts  were  all  in  a  turmoil  of  excitement 
and  terror ;  none  stayed  long  in  her  whirling  brain. 


THE   AFRICAN    IN   FREEBURG.  333 

She  retained,  however,  an  external  calmness  of 
manner ;  she  begged  him  to  stop  reading,  and  gently 
took  the  book  from  his  hand.  But  he  grasped  for  it 
with  all  his  might,  it  was  the  food  which  nourished  his 
passion,  the  intoxicating  cup  which  he  would  not  sur- 
render. The  poet  roused  in  him  all  the  emotions,  and 
even  the  actions  which  the  drama  set  forth.  Cudjo 
took  the  writ  literally  and  proposed  to  carry  it  out  to 
the  last  point  of  horror.  He  never  reflected  that  such 
a  passion  is  tragic,  and  is  so  portrayed  by  the  author. 
The  very  frenzy  of  jealousy  was  for  him  a  drunken 
ecstacy,  which  he  quaffed  from  the  words  of  the  play. 
He  threw  himself  into  it,  soul  and  body ;  he  would  go 
through  the  whole  convulsion  of  Othello,  and  die  with 
him  at  the  end. 

He  started  to  read  again,  it  was  at  the  point  where 
Othello  falls  down  in  a  fit,  and  Cudjo  was  plainly  go- 
ing in  the  same  direction,  when  Miss  Winslow  laid 
hold  of  his  arm,  and  gently  forbad  him  to  proceed, 
looking  him  in  the  eye.  She  spoke  to  him  soothingly, 
but  did  not  take  away  her  hand  or  her  glance ;  the 
fellow  stopped  his  reading  and  began  to  weep  like  a 
child.  This  lasted  some  moments,  she  kept  her  con- 
trol, and  at  last  he  seemed  calm.  Miss  "Winslow,  how- 
ever, had  just  commenced  to  see  the  nature  and  extent 
of  her  task  in  this  new  field  of  African  education.  She 
still  retained  her  presence  of  mind,  though  little 
shivers  of  terror  were  running  through  it  everywhere. 

She  sought  to  divert  bis  thought  from  its  present 
bent,  and  to  direct  it  into  a  different  channel.  In  the 
most  innocent  manner  she  asked  him  when  he  had  seen 
Sambo.     It  was  the  most  fatal  question  she  could  have 


334  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

thought  of ;  it  was  inspired  by  her  evil  genius  mask- 
ing in  good  intention.  Again  she  heard  that  awful 
growl,  more  fierce  and  grating  than  ever  before;  she 
saw  a  human  shape  writhing  and  curling  up  in  anger, 
jealousy  and  madness.  He  choked  in  his  utterance, 
he  foamed  at  the  mouth,  he  spluttered  the  unintelligible 
sounds  of  a  beast  in  trying  to  speak.  At  last  he  suc- 
ceeded in  ejecting  certain  short  words  in  short 
sentences : — 

"I  hid  in  the  woods,  I  saw  him  come  here  with 
his  book,  I  saw  him  go  out,  I  caught,  I  beat,  I  kicked, 
till  he  fell,  I  made  him  promise  to  leave  that  night  and 
never  show  himself  in  this  town  again." 

There  is  no  doubt  that  Miss  Winslow  felt  her  courage 
rise  with  the  emergency,  indignation  gave  strength. 
She  said:  "How  could  you  do  so  great  a  wrong  to 
one  of  your  own  kind,  who  is  seeking  to  learn  as  you 
are?" 

"No  nigger  sliall  ever  take  a  lesson  from  you." 

"  If  that  depends  on  your  consent,  perhaps  you  will 
begin  to  stop  white  people  as  well." 

Cudjo  showed  a  throe  of  a  new  spell,  he  shed  con- 
vulsively a  few  tears  and  growled  out:  "I  have  be- 
gun to  stop  them  too,  and  I  shall  go  ahead." 

Miss  Winslow  was  feeling  the  man's  character  in  a 
new  way.  She,  too,  was  developing  a  trait,  hitherto 
unknown  to  herself.  She  demanded  haughtily :  "  Tell 
me,  what  do  you  mean  by  such  a  threat?  " 

"  I  shall  tell  you.  I  saw  you  and  Henry  Firestone 
through  the  window ;  I  saw  what  you  did.  I  threw 
the  stone  that  stopped  5^ou  in  a  hurry."  With  this 
declaration  he  gave  the  same  growl,   which  she  had 


THE    AFRICAN    IN    FREEBURG.  355 

heard  after  the  cast  of  the  stone,  and  by  which  she 
had  already  identified  him  as  the  doer  of  the  deed. 

The  mystery  was  now  solved,  and  the  motive  was 
likewise  made  plain.  But  the  crisis  was  by  no  means 
past,  though  she  felt  the  spirit  rising  in  her  equal  to 
the  new  task.  Her  demon  at  once  grappled  with  that 
of  the  African,  and  she  began:  *' This  is  the  reward 
for  my  efforts  to  make  a  man  of  you.  For  your  sake 
I  have  scorned  prejudice,  I  have  even  defied  law;  I 
have  given  you  freely  my  time,  I  was  ready  with  my 
life,  if  necessary.  This  is  your  gratitude.  Leave  me, 
and  never  come  into  my  presence  again,  thou  black 
beastly  son  of  Ham." 

But  the  negro's  spirit  was  not  yet  down.  Ke  rose 
above  her  like  a  frenzied  animal,  and  ground  his  teeth: 
"  I'll  kill  you." 

Miss  Winslow  had  no  time  to  lose.  She  grasped  his 
arm  vigorously,  and  poured  her  firm  glance  like  a 
burning  stream  into  his  eye.  He  stopped  and  sank 
back  upon  himself,. muttering,  "  And  I'll  kill  myself." 

Cud  jo  had  weakened,  he  really  no  longer  resisted  in 
spirit.  But  Miss  Winslow  rose  in  strength,  a  dark 
power  came  up  in  her,  which  she  herself  had  hardly 
suspected.  Her  benevolence  had  departed,  and  the 
consecration  of  a  life  was  suddenly  swallowed  by  the 
fiend  of  vengeance.  In  this  mood  she  spoke :  "  Cudjo 
Bell,  be  accursed  of  yourself,  and  of  all  men  ;  you  are 
unworthy  of  freedom,  unregenerate,  ingrate  ;  go  back 
to  ignorance,  go  back  to  slavery,  drink  again  of  the 
bitter  cup  of  toil  and  degradation.  What  your  own 
Black  Prophet  foretold  will  come  to  pass,  you  have  not 
yet  had  the  full  training  of  servitude ;  you  must  re- 


336  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

turn,  and  take  another  dip  in  the  waters  of  humiliation. 
Under  the  scourging  of  the  overseer's  whip,  perchance 
in  the  mouths  of  the  ferocious  blood-hounds  tearing 
your  limbs,  you  will  be  taught  humanity  toward  your 
brother.  Begone,  leave  my  presence,  depart  to  dam- 
nation and  take  with  you  my  curse." 

Miss  Winslow  had  risen  to  a  prophetic  height,  and 
it  may  be  added,  to  a  prophetic  fury.  Never  had  she 
felt  such  a  possession  before.  In  the  dark  corners  of 
her  nature  also  lurked  a  dragon,  as  well  as  in  Africa. 
She  had  never  seen  the  eyes  of  the  monster  so  plainly 
as  at  present.  A  moment  after  her  utterance  she  was 
affrighted  at  herself.  Somehow  she  thought  of  her  last 
and  greatest  renunciation,  from  whose  dizzy  height 
she  had  suddenly  dropped,  and  was  still  whizzing 
downwards  with  an  infernal  gravitation. 

Cudjo  was  overawed,  he  shrank,  withered,  fell,  till 
he  almost  crawled  out  of  the  door.  The  doom  came 
like  a  thunderbolt,  he  felt  its  certainty,  nay,  its 
necessity,  because  the  judgment  really  lay  within  him. 
The  vision  and  the  words  of  the  Black  Prophet,  whom 
he  had  that  day  scorned,  came  back  to  him  along  with 
the  terrible  monsters  of  the  swamp.  He  was  completely 
unnerved,  and  resigned  to  whatever  might  come. 

It  was  already  night.  As  he  slunk  off  in  the  dark, 
his  stalwart  form  slopped  down  as  limp  as  a  rag.  He 
had  to  go  through  a  patch  of  trees  not  far  off ;  in  the 
midst  of  it  three  men  sprang  out  of  a  dark  clump  of 
bushes  and  seized  him  ;  it  was  the  identical  spot  where 
he  had  waylaid  poor  Sambo.  He  at  once  knew  the 
meaning  of  the  whole  occurrence;  he  turned  and 
fought,  but  not  with  his  old  strength,  the  curse  was 


THE    AFRICAN    IN    FREEBURG.  337 

working.  He  felt  a  pair  of  hand-cnffs  slipping  over 
his  wrists,  he  gave  one  spring,  but  somebody  was  on 
his  back  and  dragged  him  down.  He  yelled  once,  but 
a  gag  was  immediately  thrust  into  his  mouth. 

Miss  Winslow  heard  dimly  the  sounds  of  the  scuffle, 
and  wondered ;  then  she  heard  the  cry  and  came  to 
the  door  and  listened ;  all  was  quiet  in  the  distance. 
She  was  still  in  a  tremor  of  excitement,  and  she  had 
to  go  home  in  the  dark.  As  she  passed  down  the 
road,  she  thought  she  saw  some  human  figures  gliding 
mysteriously  through  the  trees  ;  then  she  thought  she 
heard  a  deep  muffled  groan  of  somebody  in  pain,  very 
different  from  that  growl  which  had  wound  such  a 
dark  ominous  thread  into  her  life.  A  little  later  she 
was  certain  that  a  wagon  was  driven  rapidly  away 
through  the  dark.  With  a  feeling  of  deep  inner  dis- 
cord and  general  uneasiness  she  entered  the  house 
which  she  called  her  home.  The  next  day  Cudjo  Bell 
did  not  appear  at  his  lesson. 

22 


CHAPTER  NINTH. 


THE  CELEBRATION. 
I. 

The  boom  of  a  small  cannon  was  heard  reverberat- 
ing from  the  Public  Square.  The  conversation  round 
the  hearth  of  the  Firestone  family  went  on,  though 
everybody  engaged  in  it  was  struck  by  the  sudden 
report,  and  started  a  little.  All  present  were  in  the 
midst  of  an  animated  discussion,  which  could  not  then 
stop.  The  relative  merits  and  prospects  of  the  North 
and  the  South  were  in  the  process  of  being  set  forth 
with  much,  spirit ;  the  great  question  was :  Which  of 
the  two  is  to  have  possession  of  the  future?  Which 
will  mould  the  nation?  What  are  to  be  the  means? 
Can  political  unity  be  preserved  in  such  a  vast  and 
ever- widening  territory?  The  former  interest  in  an- 
cestry had  given  way  to  the  deeper  interest  in  nation- 
ality. There  was  good  feeling,  but  a  great  difference 
of  opinion.  At  last  Mr.  Tournefort  declared  some- 
what pensively :  "  The  tendencies  of  the  two  sections 
are  growing  more  diverse  every  day,  and  are  slowly  but 
surely  moving  toward  separation." 

Again  the  boom  of  the  cannon  echoed  through  the 
house ;  it  entered  the  conversation  and  mingled  with 
(338) 


THE    CELEBRATION.  339 

that  last  word  of  the  Virginian.  He  was  startled  for 
a  moment  at  the  sound,  but  soon  went  on  with  his  re- 
marks: "The  economical  life,  as  well  as  the  social, 
are  different ;  institutions  are  not  only  distinct,  but 
are  becoming  incompatible,  nay,  hostile." 

More  loud  and  penetrating  than  before  was  the  re- 
port of  the  cannon  ;  it  shook  the  window  ;  it  seemed 
to  be  an  immediate  and  emphatic  response  to  Mr. 
Tournefort's  declaration.  The  talk  was  interrupted, 
the  members  of  the  household  ran  to  the  window  and 
looked  out  toward  the  source  of  the  noise. 

"What  does  that  firing  mean?"  Mr.  Tournefort 
asked  in  some  surprise. 

"  There  is  a  celebration  to-day,  the  railroad  is  com- 
pleted," said  Mr.  Firestone. 

"  Which  way  does  it  go?  " 

"It  runs  north  and  south  from  this  point,"  replied 
Mr.  Firestone. 

"  Is  it  possible!  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Tournefort,  whose 
astonishment  did  not  result  from  ignorance  of  the  ex- 
istence of  the  railroad,  but  from  a  sudden  presenti- 
ment of  its  significance. 

"  How  is  it  with  your  old  town  in  Virginia,  where 
you  and  your  ancestors  have  lived  so  long  —  has  it  such 
means  of  communication?  "  asked  Mr.  Firestone. 

"  There  again  I  must  grant  that  you  are  ahead  of 
us,"  was  the  ready  reply. 

"I  suppose  so,"  continued  Mr.  Firestone.  "  But  do 
you  know- that  we  had  a  hard  time  in  getting  it." 

"  What  was  the  matter?  " 

"  People  divide  upon  this  question  as  up  on  all 
others. ' ' 


340  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

"  Then  the  railroad  also  has  split  you  into  two 
parties,"  observed  Mr.  Tournefort. 

"  Certainly,''  was  the  somewhat  uncertain  response 
of  Mr.  Firestone,  since  he  was  divided  in  himself  upon 
this  very  point. 

That  had  been  a  time  of  great  excitement  in  Free- 
burg  when  the  first  railroad  began  to  be  talked  of. 
The  little  town,  which  had  been  depressed  from  vari- 
ous causes  and  had  remained  far  behind  its  own  ap- 
preciation of  itself,  was  suddenly  filled  with  hope  that 
floated  it  upwards  into  high  air  like  a  balloon.  It  be- 
came inflated  with  untold  ambitions  and  thought  itself 
a  great  city  on  the  spot.  Land  rose,  buildings  shot 
up,  speculation  entered  the  sturdy  bosom  of  the  agri- 
culturist and  swelled  it  to  a  monstrous  girth  ;  for  the 
first  time  imagination  became  a  factor  in  the  life  of 
the  community.  The  prosiest  man  turned  poetical 
and  was  again  a  believer  in  myths.  It  was  a  spiritual 
change,  which,  on  the  whole,  must  be  pronounced  un- 
healthy ;  a  fever,  not  necessarily  fatal,  but  dan- 
gerous. 

Yet  all  this  took  place  not  without  much  opposition 
and  argument,  as  Mr.  Firestone  had  hinted.  The 
farmers  of  the  surrounding  districts  were  in  the  habit 
of  coming  to  town  and  discussing  tlie  railroad  on  the 
Public  Square.  One  would- say :  "  It  cuts  my  farm  in 
two."  Another  would  reply:  "But  it  gives  you  a 
market  at  home  and  makes  the  rest  of  your  land  more 
valuable."  Still  others  would  speak  of  the  reckless- 
ness with  which  it  killed  pigs,  cows,  horses ;  even  men 
would  not  be  spared  by  the  death-dealing  locomotive. 
''But  it  will  pay  you,"  was  always  the  final  argument 


THE    CiELEBRATION.  341 

that  paralyzed  the  opponent,  "  it  will  pay  you  for  all, 
even  for  your  life."  What  more  could  be  asked  when 
mortahty  itself  brought  a  price? 

The  man  most  noisy  in  opposition  was  old  Johnny 
Foggey,  who  always  planted  himself  in  the  way  of  the 
railroad,  though  his  land  lay  several  miles  from  the 
proposed  track.  In  the  shirt  sleeves  of  honest  but 
untidy  toil,  with  trousers  stuffed  into  the  tops  of  his 
heavy  boots,  with  face  unshorn  and  hair  unkempt,  he 
would  come  to  town  daily,  take  position  on  the  Public 
Square,  and  do  battle  against  the  incoming  new-fang- 
led iron  horse.  There  was  much  discussion,  a  good 
deal  of  ignorance,  no  little  froth  and  some  anger; 
once  or  twice  there  was  an  actual  grapple  of  sinew  by 
the  boldest  contestants,  all  to  no  purpose,  however. 
Steam  had  made  up  its  mind  to  go  where  it  pleased, 
had  quietly  taken  possession,  and  was  now  preparing 
to  celebrate  its  victory. 

The  majority  of  the  people  were  friendly.  They 
saw  the  immediate  profit,  they  felt  that  this  new  kind 
of  road  with  its  own  huge,  swift  wagons  and  carriages 
meant  some  great  change,  certainly  economical,  pos- 
sibly  social.  It  was,  indeed,  too  vast  a  thing  for 
them  to  grasp  fully,  but  it  was  new,  and  they  believed 
in  progress.  They  undoubtedly  showed  a  little  touch 
of  curiosity,  perchance  of  anxiety,  along  with  their 
hopes ;  they  felt  a  small  thrill  of  terror  at  the  sight  of 
the  mighty  behemoth  of  mechanism. 

Its  growth  was  a  miraculous  legend,  more  miracu- 
lous than  the  ancient  story  of  Hercules,  the  world- 
tamer;  it  was  the  modern  myth,  which  persists  in 
being  simply  a  deed,  and  refuses  to  utter  itself  as  yet 


342  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

in  song.  Unknown  men  called  surveyors  suddenly 
appeared,  having  mysterious  instruments  ;  they  drove 
stakes  into  the  ground  along  certain  lines,  they  ascer- 
tained heights  and  depths  of  hill  and  valley.  The 
people  turned  out  to  look  at  the  strangers  going 
through  their  possessions  at  will,  without  their  con- 
sent, yet  with  some  higher  authority  ;  they  sometimes 
protested,  generally  favored,  but  all  at  last  submitted. 
It  seemed  the  decree  of  a  stronger  power  than  them- 
selves, of  a  new  agency  which  was  going  its  own  way 
without  human  permission.  The  only  thing  to  do  was 
to  fall  in  and  help  along  the  pre-determined  order,  and 
thus,  perchance,  get  a  free  ride  all  the  way. 

After  the  staking  of  the  lines,  the  grading  began ; 
the  people  came  and  helped  with  their  teams  at  good 
wages ;  they  cut  the  wooden  ties  and  hauled  them  to 
the  road-bed  at  much  profit.  The  new  work  brought 
prosperity  from  the  start.  Then  came  the  long  iron 
rails,  which  were  laid  down  in  two  parallel  lines  run- 
ning in  opposite  directions  out  of  sight  toward  in- 
finity. 

Finally,  to-day  the  locomotive  has  arrived,  the 
climax  of  mechanical  contrivance ;  with  it  the  whole 
thing  at  once  takes  life.  Behold,  the  machine  now  is 
not  merely  moved,  but  moves  itself ;  it  can  ran  at  a 
wild  speed  and  carry  man,  the  contriver,  along  in  its 
bosom.  But  the  question  will  rise :  Has  not  man  now 
made  something  greater  than  himself,  which  may  turn 
'  and  swallow  him  in  his  very  triumph  ?  We  shall  have 
to  wait  and  see.  Meanwhile  so  much  is  clear:  Old 
Kronos,  the  Time-God,  has  brought  forth  another  son, 
the  new  Zeus,  who  will  again  fling  his  parent  down 


THE    CELEBRATION.  343 

into  murky  Tartarus,  and  coop  him  up  in  far  narrower 
limits  than  ever  before. 

Surely  a  great  day  for  Freeburg  and  for  the  world ; 
let  everybody  rejoice  and  celebrate.  A  wonderful 
transformation  of  the  earth  and  all  distance  takes 
place,  like  the  sudden  shifting  of  a  fairy-tale.  The 
capital  of  the  State  is  now  distant  but  a  few  hours' 
ride  ;  yesterday  the  same  journey  took  as  many  days. 
To-day  Freeburg  has  become  its  suburb.  AH  produce, 
the  result  of  toil,  has  now  some  demand,  which  is  set- 
tled at  the  world's  commercial  center.  New  York  and 
London,  vast  electric  piles  which  galvanize  conti- 
nents, have  sent  a  small  current  along  the  iron  bars 
into  this  petty  place,  which  responsively  leaps  up  in 
a  thrill.  Freeburg,  with  its  rural  environs  seemed  an 
isolated  spot  on  the  map  ;  in  a  day  it  has  become  an 
intimate  necessary  part  of  the  globe,  whose  whole  life 
it  begins  to  feel.  No  wonder  the  little  town  swells  and 
exalts  itself,  having  the  throb  of  the  entire  earth  in  its 
bosom.  It  has  looked  at  itself  in  the  mirror  of  the 
future,  it  sees  itself  magnified  one  hundredfold  in  a 
single  wink  of  the  eye. 

Each  individual  felt  the  mighty  pulse  of  the  time, 
bringing  with  it  untold  multiplication  of  wealth ;  then 
he  tried  to  confine  the  pulse,  as  much  as  possible  to 
himself.  It  was  the  counter-stroke  to  the  great  bless- 
ing ;  the  average  man  became  selfish,  uncontrollable ; 
he  lost  out  of  view  the  public  advantage,  in  trying  to 
turn  the  golden  stream  into  his  own  pocket.  The  re- 
straint of  morals  and  of  law  became  no  restraint,  even 
religion  was  drawn  into  the  whirlpool  and  lost  her 
divine  charity.     On  one  side  of  the  town  dwelt  Deacon 


344  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

Huff ey,  a  Presbyterian  of  the  soundest  orthodoxy,  whd 
wished  the  railroad  to  pass  through  his  cow-pasture, 
else  he  would  give  nothing  and  oppose  it  in  the  bar- 
gain. On  the  other  side  of  the  town  dwelt  Elder  Stickle- 
berry,  a  Baptist  of  the  hardest  kind  of  shell,  who 
declared  that  the  railroad  must  go  through  his  back 
yard,  else  he  would  drive  it  out  of  Freeburg.  The 
controversy  was  carried  into  their  respective  churches, 
and  the  members  took  sides  with  much  bitterness, 
which  threw  the  whole  town  for  a  time  into  confusion 
and  uproar.  Heavenly  peace  took  her  flight,  the  hell- 
ish legions  held  a  carnival  right  in  the  sanctuary. 

Meanwhile  the  railroad  ran  its  own  way  through 
another  part  of  the  town,  and  left  both  deacon  and 
elder  out  in  the  cold.  It  had  its  own  purposes  and  its 
own  means.  Freeburg  as  a  whole  rejoiced  in  the  out- 
come ;  it  cried  shame  upon  the  selfishness  of  the  two 
individuals  who  would  jeopardize  the  interests  of  the 
whole  community  in  their  petty  quarrel.  And  there 
was  danger.  The  managers  of  the  railroad  threatened 
to  pass  by  Freeburg  altogether,  and  lay  the  track 
through  Snaptown,  its  great  rival.  This  is  just  what 
had  happened  man}^  years  before  when  the  canal  was 
built.  The  Freeburgers  quarreled  about  its  location, 
one  party  thwarted  the  other,  the  channel  was  turned 
aside  to  a  small  village  five  miles  distant,  which  at 
once  became  a  competitor.  Even  now  Freeburg  was 
not  without  a  twinge  of  anxious  selfishness.  Other 
towns  were  springing  up  along  the  track  of  the  rail- 
road, each  had  as  great  hopes  as  Freeburg,  each  began 
a  tilt  against  all  its  neighbors,  each  had  an  imagination 
like  a  magnifying  lens,  through  which  it  looked  at  its 


THE    CELEBRATION.  345 

own  image,  and  always  beheld  the  same  in  colossal 
proportions. 

But  Freeburg,  like  most  places,  was  full  of  human 
nature;  every  man  and  woman  had  a  little  of  it. 
After  sharply  reproving  the  selfishness  of  those  two 
religious  men,  the  deacon  and  the  elder,  the  town 
would  give  a  chuckle  of  selfish  delight  over  its  humil- 
iated rival  Snaptown.  Exultation,  ridicule,  malice 
were  poured  upon  the  neighboring  village  for  seeking 
what  others  sought,  namely,  its  own  advantage.  But 
it  was  doomed.  The  town  of  the  canal  could  not  stand 
against  the  town  of  the  railroad.  Thirty  miles  an 
hour  swallowed  easily  three  miles  an  hour.  Still  there 
had  been  a  fierce  contest,  which  lasted  through  years, 
and  represented  two  great  stages  of  transportation,  it 
may  be  said,  of  civilization. 

II. 

The  faithful  historian  must  not  fail  to  give  some 
account  of  the  war  which  once  broke  out  between 
Freeburg  and  Snaptown,  though  he  have  to  go  back  a 
little  in  time,  and  bring  the  past  down  into  the  present. 
He  well  knows  that  this  war  has  an  important  place  in 
American  history,  and  ought  to  have  a  special  interest 
for  every  citizen  of  a  free  country,  who  may  from  its 
record  draw  a  lesson  for  his  own  community.  More- 
over it  is  the  necessary  prelude  to  the  celebration 
which  is  about  to  take  place  in  Freeburg. 

When  the  canal  first  came  to  Snaptown,  it  was  a 
place  without  any  significance  whatever.  The  ditch 
was  dug,  and  the  miracle  followed ;  the  muddy  village 


346  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

sprang  at  once  into  an  importance  as  great  as  that  of 
Freeburg.  Houses  rose  by  magic,  streets  were  made, 
parks  were  laid  out,  and  the  whole  district  was  turned 
into  town-lots.  It  soon  demanded  the  county-seat, 
which  had  been  for  a  long  time  located  at  Freeburg ; 
this  demand  started  bad  blood  not  only  in  the  latter 
place,  but  over  the  whole  county.  As  usual,  two 
parties  arose,  one  for  and  one  against  the  removal. 
The  old  political  organizations  were  submerged  in  this 
new  cataclysm;  the  rising  conflict  of  the  time  was 
hushed,  Conscience  lost  her  power,  and  Law  was  often 
stripped  of  her  majesty.  Every  candidate  from  Snap- 
town  was  defeated  by  Freeburg,  and  every  candidate 
from  Freeburg  sank  to  the  bottom  under  the  weight 
of  the  hostile  votes  of  Snaptown. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  time  of  multitudinous  confusions. 
But  the  one  great  question  which  rose  above  all  others 
and  disturbed  every  small  neighborhood,  was.  Shall 
Freeburg  or  Snaptown  sell  groceries  and  dry  goods  to 
this  part  of  the  country?  Emissaries  from  both  places 
were  everywhere  present,  and  fought  their  battles 
with  bolts  of  muslin  and  calico,  with  sacks  of  sugar 
and  coffee,  and  sometimes  with  the  solid  fists.  But 
the  chief  weapon  on  both  sides  was  the  tongue,  which 
now  seemed  to  have  even  a  greater  power  of  calling 
up  those  gorgeous  phantoms  named  lies,  than  it  had 
ever  before  had  in  the  history  of  the  world. 

The  conflict  entered  the  social  circle  in  both  places. 
Freeburg  claimed  the  old  high-bred  aristocracy,  which 
went  back  in  a  few  cases  one  generation  at  least  —  an 
antiquity  that  gave  a  divine  right  of  birth.  The  Snap- 
town  people,  on  the  other  hand,  were  new  —  intruders, 


THE    CELteBRATION.  347 

pretenders,  parvenus ;  they  had  no  ancestry.  The  two 
towns  called  each  other  hard  names,  charged  each 
other  with  plebeian  peculiarities  of  mind  and  body ; 
the  ladies  especially  grew  hot  at  the  insinuation  of  hav- 
ing big  ears,  big  hands,  big  feet.  The  new  town  always 
reproached  the  old  one  with  being  slow,  sleepy,  sod- 
den, behind  the  times ;  the  old  town  always  reproached 
the  new  one  with  being  fast,  unsteady,  unprincipled, 
altogether  too  far  ahead  of  old-fashioned  honesty. 
The  newspapers  took  up  the  battle,  and  throve  from 
it,  like  swine  in  the  swill-tub ;  Snaptown  had  also  its 
sheet  compounded  of  black  printer's  ink  and  blacker 
blackguardism.  The  editorial  coruscations  illuminated 
the  entire  county  with  a  sort  of  devil's  flare  of  wit  and 
drivel.  The  writers  shunned  all  appearance  of  reason, 
they  belittled  one  another,  they  lied,  they  pawed  dirt 
like  mad  bulls ;  their  divine  inheritance  they  seemed 
bent  on  turning  into  a  madhouse. 

But  the  chief  difficulty  arose  when  the  enumeration 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  two  towns  was  to  be  taken. 
Each  declared  its  numbers  trebled  on  the  spot,  and 
ridiculed  the  estimates  of  its  rival.  At  last  came  the 
official  figures,  which  both  tried  to  falsify,  but  which 
told  the  truth.  It  gave  a  desperate  shock  to  both ; 
each  denied  the  correctness  of  the  enumeration,  and 
took  its  own  census  over  again.  The  expected  com- 
fort never  arrived  ;  the  fact  would  come  out  that  the 
two  places  were  nearly  equal  in  numbers,  in  wealth, 
in  churches  and  in  lying. 

There  were  many  attempts  to  harmonize  the  con- 
flicting claims,  and  to  tone  down  the  savage  spirit  of 
commercial  jealousy  and  competition.     It  was  felt  by 


348  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

their  best  people  that  the  two  towns  were  relapsing 
into  barbarism.  Judge  Allworthy,  revered  by  both 
sides,  sought  to  interpose  his  calm  judicial  saws 
between  the  parties ;  but  they  sounded  like  the  notes 
of  a  flute  in  the  whirlwind.  Still  he  plead  for  moder- 
ation, he  held  up  before  everybody  the  law,  he  threat- 
ened the  penalties  of  its  breach.  With  difficulty  he 
kept  the  two  factions  from  an  open  rupture  on  several 
occasions. 

At  last  after  much  seething  and  frothing,  the  tur- 
bulent waters  were  turned  into  a  peaceful  channel, 
nay,  into  the  stream  of  love.  A  marriage  was  arranged 
between  a  scion  of  Freeburg's  most  ancient  aristoc- 
racy, proud  but  poor,  and  one  of  Snaptown*s  wealth- 
iest heiresses,  whose  father  was  a  butcher  and  had 
made  his  money  in  pork. 

The  cream  of  the  cream  of  society  in  both  places 
was  invited,  and  mighty  was  the  bustle  of  preparations 
and  congratulations  and  expectations.  The  wedding 
was  to  take  place  at  the  country  seat  of  the  bride's 
father,  Mr.  Hezekiah  Snapper,  of  Snaptown,  situated 
about  half  way  between  the  two  places,  a  little  across 
the  border  line  toward  Freeburg.  When  the  rich 
butcher  built  his  palace  there,  it  was  regarded  as  an 
impertinence  and  a  taunt  by  the  Freeburgers,  and 
started  ill-feeling  among  those  whose  ill-feeling  was 
ready  to  start.  But  now  it  was  to  be  the  scene  of  a 
happy  union  —  a  marriage  not  only  between  two  rep- 
resentatives of  the  towns,  but  between  the  towns 
themselves. 

The  guests  had  assembled,  the  music  was  playing, 
the   cooks   were    busy,  the   corks    were  popping,  the 


THE    CELEBRATION.  349 

plates  were  rattling,  the  preacher  had  arrived,  when 
Rome  question  of  precedence  arose  between  two  hot 
youths,  a  Freeburger  and  an  heir  of  Snaptown.  Sharp 
words  passed,  blows-followed,  each  side  was  re-inf orced 
by  friends,  each  town  took  part  with  its  man,  the  ill- 
healed  wound  was  broken  open  afresh,  and  the  festal 
company  of  itself  split  into  two  angry,  gesticulating, 
loud-talking  sets  of  combatants.  In  the  midst  of 
them  appeared  Judge  Allworthy,  the  man  of  law,  who 
was  present  in  full  dress  as  an  honored  guest ;  beside 
him  stood  the  preacher  in  white  neck-tie  with  his  evan- 
gel of  peace.  Both  sought  to  allay  the  excitement, 
they  could  not  be  understood  in  the  din,  t)oth  were 
swept  away  in  the  turmoil.  Loud  thumps  could  be 
heard,  cracks  over  the  skull  thudded  heavily  in  the 
uproar,  curses  rose  which  had  the  happy  effect  of 
drowning  one  another. 

The  trouble  started  in  the  large  yard,  but  it  soon 
reached  the  house,  where  the  bride  and  bridegroom 
stood  in  tremulous  expectancy,  ready  for  the  ceremony. 
The  bride,  a  plucky  girl,  ran  to  the  door,  when  she 
heard  the  noise  ;  she  saw  the  conflict,  saw  the  separa- 
tion into  two  parties.  She  at  once  left  her  betrothed 
and  joined  her  side,  in  full  train  switching  around,  and 
sending  a  volley  back  at  him :  ' '  There,  your  perfidious 
people  are  beginning  again."  Whereat  he  beat  a  quick 
retreat  out  the  back  way,  and  joined  his  party.  Thus 
the  peace-promising  marriage  was  cleft  in  twain,  while 
the  knot  was  in  the  process  of  being  tied,  and  the  bride 
and  bridegroom,  in  wedding  dress  and  kid  gloves, 
took  ranks  on  opposite  sides  of  the  battle. 

By  this  time  the  valiant  Freeburgers  had  driven  their 


350  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

enemies  back  into  the  house,  up  whose  steps  the  lat- 
ter rushed  in  a  sort  of  panicky  flight.  The  victors 
now  halted,  and  bethought  themselves  ;  they  were  re- 
minded of  their  trespass  against  the  laws  of  hospi- 
talit3^  Moreover,  when  they  saw  the  bridegroom  among 
them,  gloved,  hatless,  in  white  vest,  they  began  to 
scent  comedy  and  turned  to  laughter ;  good  humor 
came  back  as  they  asked : — 

"  Are  you  married?  " 

The  bridegroom,  who  was  beside  himself  with  ex- 
citement, replied:     "  I  don't  know." 

"  Did  the  minister  say  anything  to  you?  " 

"  Not  a  word." 

*'Well,  then,  we  might  as  well  go  home.  This  thing 
is  wound  up." 

By  a  common  impulse  the  Freeburgers  filed  out  of 
the  yard  and  went  home  where  they  created  no  little 
surprise  and  merriment.  Those  who  had  not  been  in- 
vited now  had  their  revenge.     Everybody  asked : — 

''TVliereisthe  bride?  '* 

'*  We  could  not  carry  her  off;  she  was  the  best 
fighter  in  Snaptown." 

"  But  where  is  the  bridegroom?  " 

All  looked  around,  expecting  him  to  report  at  the 
call,  but  he  was  missing.  It  was  known  that  he  had 
started  home  with  the  rest  of  the  company.  Where 
could  he  be  ?  A  shout  went  up  with  a  laugh :  ' '  Where 
is  the  bridegroom?  " 

But  at  this  point  the  affair  assumed  a  serious  phase. 
A  rumor  went  through  the  crowd  —  who  started  it  no- 
body knew  —  that  all  Snaptown  was  in  arms,  and  on 
the  road  to  avenge  the  insult.     There  was  but  one  thing 


THE    CELEBRATION.  351 

to  be  done :  that  was,  to  muster  on  the  Public  Square, 
and  make  ready  to  meet  the  foe.  A  nucleus  was  fur- 
nished fortunately  by  the  small  military  company  un- 
der the  command  of  Capt.  Charles  Firestone.  Soon  a 
second  report  was  brought  by  a  man  who  came  run- 
ning breathless  from  the  fields,  shouting  that  the  whole 
of  Snaptown  was  just  outside  with  pistols,  guns,  and 
a  small  cannon. 

At  once  the  fright  began  and  with  it  the  flight. 
Women  and  children  ran  to  and  fro  with  cries  and 
tears  ;  timid  men  quickly  dragged  forth  their  wagons, 
or  hired  vehicles  for  rapid  transportation,  giving  large 
sums  of  money,  to  be  taken  out  of  town  in  a  direction 
opposite  to  Snaptown.  Of  course  these  men  had  to 
go  along  to  look  after  their  families,  and  did  not  come 
back.  Other  men  went  into  the  ranks,  unwilling  for 
the  most  part,  and  damned  the  wedding  which  had 
caused  the  war.  Altogether  about  one  hundred  sud- 
den soldiers  shouldered  arms  and  filed  out  to  the  crest 
of  the  hill  by  the  Snaptown  road,  and  there  stood  in 
line  of  battle  waiting  for  the  enemy. 

Meantime  what  was  occurring  in  Snaptown  ?  The 
defeated  wedding-party,  when  they  beheld  the  Free- 
burgers  withdrawn  from  the  yard  and  nowhere  to  be 
seen,  ventured  out  of  the  house  into  which  they  had 
been  driven,  slipped  stealthily  into  the  road  almost 
without  looking  behind  themselves,  and  ran  pell-mell 
into  Snaptown,  taking  with  them  the  owner  of  the 
mansion,  Mr.  Hezekiah  Snapper.  Only  one  person 
refused  to  leave  the  house ;  it  was  the  stout-hearted 
bride.  She  declared  that  she  would  stay,  and  if  worst 
came  to  worst,  fight  out  the  battle  alone.     The  people 


352  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

of  Snaptown,  roused  by  the  stories  of  the  pantiDg 
fugitives,  and  observing  no  pursuers,  were  stirred  to 
the  highest  pitch  of  wrath,  and  swore  that  they  would 
punish  the  indignity . 

While  they  were  valiantly  hurling  these  mighty 
threats,  a  horseman  came  riding  into  town  at  full  gal- 
lop, with  hat  off,  showing  plain  signs  of  consternation. 
As  he  spurred  through  the  streets,  he  shouted  in  an 
excited  splutter  that  all  Freeburg  had  mustered,  and 
was  at  that  moment  on  the  march,  with  the  avowed 
purpose  of  taking,  sacking  and  burning  Snaptown. 
The  Freeburgers  had  declared  also  that  they  intended 
to  cut  open  the  heart  of  the  town  and  let  its  blood. 
This  dire  threat  was  generally  interpreted  to  mean 
that  they  would  make  a  breach  in  the  canal  and  let  its 
water  run  out,  since  the  canal  was  considered  the  heart, 
if  not  the  soul  of  Snaptown. 

"  Did  you  see  them  coming?  " 

*'  No,  but  I  saw  the  man  who  did.*' 

The  report  caused  new  deliberation ;  on  the  whole 
it  was  not  regarded  improbable,  the  ill-will  of  Freeburg 
was  well  known.  Then  that  military  company  had  al- 
ready created  suspicion,  now  its  purpose  was  clearly 
seen.  The  more  the  people  thought,  the  more  certain 
became  the  prospect  of  an  immediate  attack.  The 
consternation  grew  uncontrollable  ;  horses  and  wagons, 
even  dirt-carts,  were  in  sudden  demand;  the  families 
of  Snaptown  began  to  drive  out  rapidly  on  the  road 
which  led  in  an  opposite  direction  to  Freeburg.  Some 
men  were  seen  running  through  the  fields,  toward  the 
woods. 

But  there  were  courageous  people  in  Snaptown.     A 


THE    CELEBRATION.  353 

few  bold  spirits  took  their  fowling  pieces  and  stationed 
themselves  behind  trees  near  the  bridge,  which  the 
invaders  would  have  to  cross.  There  they  awaited 
with  perfect  patience  the  onslaught.  Darkness  came 
on  with  all  its  terrors,  still  they  held  their  ground ; 
thej^  mounted  guard,  though  in  absolute  silence.  In 
the  middle  of  the  night  the  frightened  sentinel  blazed 
away  at  a  post,  which  he  took  for  a  creeping  enemy. 
Crack,  crack  went  the  two  barrels  of  his  shotgun,  and 
then  he  ran  ;  the  remaining  people  all  ran  after  him, 
and  the  bridge  was  left  in  peaceable  possession  of 
itself. 

Great  was  the  terror  in  both  towns.  It  seized  and 
affected  the  strongest  spirits,  they  could  not  shake  it 
off.  Tliese  were  brave  men,  but  what  is  the  use  of 
fighting  against  that  stealthy  sneaking  deity  called 
Panic !  None  at  all.  "Wait  and  he  will  leave  of  him- 
self. And  this  is  what  happened.  In  such  a  time 
people  become  superstitious.  An  omen  was  seen  by 
the  Freeburgers  which  more  than  anything  else  re- 
stored confidence.  In  an  orchard,  before  the  eyes  of 
all  the  citizens  who  remained  in  town,  a  big,  lubberly 
pup  gave  chase  to  a  bull-calf.  The  latter  ran,  and 
throwing  up  its  hoof  in  running,  happened  to  hit  the 
pup  on  the  snout.  Thereat  the  pup  gave  an  unearthly 
yelp,  turned  and  ran  in  the  other  direction,  with  tail 
between  his  legs.  The  yelp  friglitened  more  than 
ever  the  calf,  which  now  began  to  bellow.  Thus  the 
two  continued  to  run  with  all  their  might  in  opposite 
ways,  terrified  by  each  other's  terror. 

It  has  already  been  noticed  that  when  the  Free- 
burgers   arrived  home   from  the  wedding,  there  was 

23 


354  THE    FREEBrRGERS. 

one  mau  missing  —  the  bridegroom.  AVhere  was  he? 
Nobody  know  just  when  or  where  he  had  shpped  out 
of  the  ranks.  Had  he  played  the  traitor  for  his  sweet- 
heart? Impossible;  his  courage  and  his  patriotism 
were  not  to  be  doubted.  The  next  day  all  was  quiet 
on  the  road  which  the  Freeburgers  guarded,  not  a 
soul  had  passed.  Toward  evening  two  people  afoot 
were  seen  slowly  approaching  in  the  distance,  and 
created  great  wonder.  Nobody  could  recognize  them 
at  first :  as  they  seemed  peaceably  inclined,  they  were 
allowed  to  advance  without  molestation.  Behold,  the 
bride  and  the  bridegroom !  they  had  come  from  the 
country  mansion.  The  bridegroom  told  his  story. 
He  was  not  going  to  be  cheated  out  of  his  bride  by 
the  quarrels  of  parents  or  of  towns ;  he  repented 
leaving  her  behind,  he  slipped  away  at  a  good  oppor- 
tunity, went  back  and  found  her  alone. 

Then  began  a  struggle  of  persuasion,  endearment, 
promises.  She  held  out  for  a  time  :  but  the  result  in 
good  season  followed.  He  persuaded  her  to  walk  with 
him  back  to  Freeburg,  where  she  was  henceforth  going 
to  stay.  Great  applause  rose  in  response  to  this  state- 
ment. A  shout  of  victory  broke  forth:  "  TVe  have 
the  bride !  We  have  the  bride !  ' '  People  shook  hands, 
sprang  into  the  air,  yelled  with  joy:  "The  war  is 
over,  and  we  have  the  bride."  The  military  company 
at  once  broke  ranks,  the  guard  was  withdrawn,  the 
guns  were  stacked  mid  shouts:  -' The  war  is  over, 
and  we  have  the  bride.'' 

The  thoughtful  Judge  AUworthy,  so  legal  and  yet 
so  charitable,  did  not  forget,  mid  all  this  jubilee.  Snap- 
town   and    its   possible    condition.       What   Freeburg 


THE    CELEBRATION.  355 

had  just  passed  through,  it  might  still  be  painfully 
enduring.  He  slipped  out  of  the  crowd  to  his  stable, 
quietly  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode  off  rapidly  to 
Snap  town,  whose  people  he  calmed  and  restored  to 
order.  He  furthermore  made  the  announcement  to 
the  parents  and  to  the  public  generall}^  that  the  bride 
was  safe  in  Freeburg,  where  she  had  declared  her  in- 
tention of  staying.  All  of  Snaptown  that  remained 
gathered  round  him,  leaped  upon  him,  and  cried  for 
joy :   "  The  war  is  over,  let  us  have  peace.'* 

It  maybe  added  that  Freeburg  acquired  great  pres- 
tige by  this  incident,  and  it  clung  to  its  advantage. 
Shortly  afterwards  it  obtained  by  a  vote  of  the  county 
a  new  court-house  and  a  new  jail ;  the  seat  of  justice 
and  of  punishment  remaine'd  fixed  thereby  for  an  in- 
definite time.  Still  Snaptown  continued  to  be  an  ag- 
gressive place,  and  upheld  its  commercial  importance, 
which  had  kept  alive  the  old  jealousy  to  the  present 
time.  It  had  even  schemed  to  get  the  railroad,  but 
that  project  had  been  a  failure,  of  which  fact  the  pres- 
ent celebration  was  the  most  convincing  proof. 

III. 

The  little  cannon  had  kept  up  its  boaming  and  had 
given  the  emphasis  to  certain  contested  points  in  the 
conversation  at  the  Firestones.  The  railroad  was  dis- 
cussed with  all  its  causes  and  consequences ;  it  too 
made  a  division  in  the  household.  The  elder  Firestone 
was  uncertain  about  its  results ;  he  was  inclined  to 
doubt  its  advantage  and  to  question  its  good  influence. 
"  There  is  no  telling,"  he  said,  "  what  kind  of  a  mon- 


356  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

ster  we  are  letting  loose  among  us."  But  he  had  a 
thread  of  denial  woven  through  his  whole  nature  —  a 
strong  black  thread  which  always  drew  him  aloof  from 
the  common  opinion  at  first.  A  certain  melancholy 
vein  caused  him  to  declare:  ''  I  am  afraid  it  will  do 
us  no  good." 

But  Aunt  Polly,  his  sister,  was  a  zealous  champion 
of  the  railroad.  Its  importance,  as  well  as  its  profit, 
seemed  to  be  divined  by  her  instinct ;  she  took  several 
shares  in  it  and  urged  others  to  take  them.  The  wo- 
man was  the  seeress,  even  in  this  matter  of  commerce, 
apparently  so  remote  from  her  life.  *'  It  is  part  of 
these  progressive  times,"  she  cried;  **  I  am  going  to 
live  in  the  head  and  not  in  the  tail  of  the  age."  Al- 
ready we  have  noticed  her  tendency  to  glance  toward 
what  lay  in  the  future ;  she  saw  it,  furthered  it,  took 
delight  in  it.  To-day  was,  accordingly,  a  great  day 
for  Aunt  Polly ;  she  seemed  to  consider  it  a  turning- 
point  in  her  life.  She  wished  to  share  in  the  celebra- 
tion, and  to  help  make  it  a  success.  Charles  Tourne- 
fort  was  astonished  at  her  talk,  it  was  so  different 
from  anything  he  had  been  used  to  hearing  at  home 
from  the  housekeeping  sisterhood.  Still  there  was  a 
kind  of  approval  in  his  astonishment.  He  wondered, 
too,  at  the  new  mighty  instrument  of  the  country's 
development ;  but  his  greatest  surprise  was  reserved 
for  what  was  taking  place  in  the  souls  of  these  vil- 
lagers. 

A  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  which  was  at  once 
opened ;  a  citizen  with  a  ribbon  in  the  button -hole  of 
bis  coat  entered  and  inquired  for  Mr.  Tournefort,  who 
was  then  introduced.     He  addressed  the  Virginia  gen- 


THE    CELEBRATION.  357 

tlemaQ  as  follows:  *'  I  am  deputed  by  the  Committee 
of  Arrangements,  in  accord  with  a  suggestion  from  our 
eminent  townsman,  Judge  Allworthy,  to  invite  you  to 
be  present  at  our  celebration  to-day,  and  to  request 
you  to  make  some  remarks  upon  the  occasion.  I  per- 
sonally hope  you  will  not  fail  us.  It  will  be  interesting 
to  have  you  tell  us  what  is  transpiring  in  your  part  of 
the  country.  We  have  heard  many  comparisons  be- 
tween the  North  and  the  South  from  Northerners ;  it 
will  doubtless  be  to  our  profit  to  hear  one  to-day  from 
a  Southerner. 

This  was  a  new  surprise  for  Mr.  Tournefort.  He 
mused  a  moment  without  giving  a  response ;  he  was 
taking  his  own  time  ;  at  last  he  looked  up  to  make  an 
inquiry,  when  he  saw  the  committeeman  passing  out  of 
the  door.  He  heard  the  parting  words  from  those  van- 
ishing lips :   ''I  wish  you  good  morning." 

Mr.  Tournefort  asked  with  a  shade  of  vexation: 
"  Why  did  he  not  wait?  He  has  not  received  my  an- 
swer.    What  does  he  mean?  *' 

Aunt  Polly  replied :  *' Nobody  waits  here  for  any- 
body.'' 

'*  Courtesy  is  not  much  cultivated  in  these  parts,  I 
imagine,"  said  Uncle  Charles. 

**Too  busy,  too  busy,"  retorted  Aunt  Polly. 
*'  Everybody  has  the  railroad  inside  of  him  and  runs 
to  the  minute." 

Mr.  Tournefort  laughed,  saying:  *'  Well,  they  might 
wait  at  least  till  I  got  on  the  train,  and  I  would  then 
go  along." 

"No,  you  must  be  on  time,  else  the  train  will  leave 
you  behind." 


358  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

"  Then  I  must  send  my  message  after  the  man.  I 
shall  make  ii  short  address,  though  oratoiy  be  not  my 
wont ;  I  have  a  few  reflections  which  I  shall  try  to  put 
together.  I  would  not  be  true  to  my  American  birth- 
right unless  I  made  a  speech  when  I  had  a  chance." 

Word  was  sent  to  the  committee  ;  the  family  circle 
broke  up,  Uncle  Charles  retired  to  his  room  to  cogi- 
tate. Shortly  after  noon  all  came  together  again, 
partook  of  a  hasty  lunch,  and  then  hurried  off  to  the 
Public  Square,  on  which  the  speaking  was  to  take 
place. 

IV. 

During  these  days  there  was  a  good  deal  of  excite- 
ment in  the  Firestone  household  as  well  as  in  the  whole 
communit\'.  The  visit  of  the  uncle  made  a  continual 
stir  in  the  family ;  the  preparations  for  the  railroad 
celebration  were  the  source  of  incessant  bustle  in  the 
town.  Everybody  seemed  so  full  of  great  affairs 
that  no  special  attention  could  be  given  to  any  ordinary 
matter. 

In  the  background  of  all  this  tumult  alid  pre-occu- 
pation  of  the  family,  little  TroUa  still  lingered,  pale 
and  ill ;  the  perfect  physical  form  had  already  lost  its 
elastic  echo,  and  much  of  its  strength  had  departed. 
She  often  kept  her  room  while  the  younger  members  of 
the  household  went  on  some  excursion  or  to  some 
festivity. 

She  was  more  and  more  thrown  back  upon  herself, 
and  turned  inward  for  her  help  and  her  entertainment. 
Still  she  took  an  eager  interest  in  all  that  was  going 
on ;  especially  she  listened  with  deep  participation  to 


TllE    CELEBRATION.  359 

what  concerned  Henry.  She  had  one  supreme  relief, 
as  well  as  one  final  utterance ;  she  made  songs  and 
hummed  their  melodies  ;  they  rose  up  from  the  hidden 
currents  of  her  being  and  burst  like  bubbles  filled  with 
fragrance  on  the  air,  without  much  attention  being 
paid  to  them. 

In  honor  of  the  approaching  holiday,  she  had  asked 
to  be  attired  in  festal  costume.  A  white  dress,  such 
as  she  liked,  was  made  according  to  her  directions ; 
pretty  shoes  tied  with  ribbons  were  to  show  off  in  neat 
contrast  to  the  upper  garment.  But  the  new  straw  hat 
of  golden  color  was  her  special  delight.  She  wished  to 
trim  it  herself  with  a  becoming  wreath  ;  for  this  pur- 
pose she  visited  the  garden  which  had  once  been  al- 
most her  home,  but  which  she  had  been  forced  to 
abandon  on  account  of  increasing  weakness.  Great 
was  the  joy  of  her  floral  friends  as  she  appeared  once 
more  among  them ;  she  said  that  they  clapped  their 
hands  as  she  entered,  and  saluted  her  in  their  flower 
language,  with  many  fragrant  words  of  delight.  It 
was  her  last  visit ;  the  effort  exhausted  her,  she  sank 
down  on  the  door-sill  as  she  returned  to  the  house. 

The  next  day  she  was  better ;  it  happened  to  be  the 
day  of  the  great  railroad  celebration ;  she  was  dressed 
in  her  festal  garments.  She  had  to  stay  at  home,  but 
she  asked  to  be  placed  out  in  the  yard  under  the  trees, 
as  it  was  fair  weather.  She  said :  "I  like  to  look  up 
into  the  leaves  and  hear  them  talk  and  sing.  I  shall 
celebrate  my  birthday,  though  I  never  had  any.'*  Poor 
Trolla  determined  to  have  a  little  festival  of  her  own, 
ere  she  left  the  fair  earth  and  the  dear  people  upon  it. 

A  young  clergyman  entered  who  had  taken  a  great 


otiO  THE   FKEEBURGERS. 

interest  iu  the  litllo  sufferer:  he  had  studied  her  case 
with 'much  sympathy  and  had  sought  to  impart  com- 
fort in  various  wnys.  He  was  au  expert  in  medicine ; 
he  believed  it  to  be  his  duty  to  herd  the  sick  physically 
and  mentally  ;  he  was  body-eurer  as  well  as  soul-curer ; 
in  fact,  he  declared  that  the  two  callings  went  to- 
gether. Trolla  had  become  attaclied  to  him,  though 
he,  iu  his  searcliings  and  probings,  often  made  her 
wince  with  pain.  But  he  never  tried  to  wrench  her  out 
of  her  own  clear  pathway  into  some  road  of  his  own, 
nor  did  he  indulge  in  the  painfully  stereotyped  forms 
of  clerical  condolence.  He  took  au  interest  in  the 
human  soul  for  its  own  sake  ;  he  did  not  seek  to  tor- 
ture it  into  some  opinion  alien  to  it,  in  the  name  of  re- 
ligion, but  he  endeavored  to  unfold  it  on  its  own  course 
into  its  own  true  being. 

To-day  he  had  come  to  see  the  sick  and  lone  child 
instead  of  joining  the  multitude  on  the  streets.  He 
gave  a  little  respite  to  Aunt  Polly,  who  had  been 
closel}'  confined  to  the  house  by  Trolla's  illness,  and 
who  would  not  leave  her  without  some  company. 
Good  Aunt  Polly  was  eager  to  go  out  a  little  while,  for 
she  had  a  very  keeu  interest  in  the  new  raih'oad,  and 
in  the  success  of  the  celebration.  The  result  was,  the 
clergyman  and  Trolla  were  left  together;  they  talked, 
the  festal  noise  would  rumble  through  their  words ; 
she  became  excited,  a  hectic  Hush  spread  over  her 
face.  She  tried  to  walk  about  in  the  yard,  leaning  on 
the  clergyman's  arm  ;  but  she  was  soon  fatigued,  and 
lay  back  in  her  chair,  clad  iu  all  her  holiday  raiment. 
Her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  the  clergyman  tried  to  divert 
her  thoughts  into  some  quiet,  pleasant  channel,  but  her 


THE    CELEBRATION.  361 

breast  heaved  as  if  her  heart  would  break  out  of  its 
walls. 

She  said  :  "I  know  you  do  not  think  it  best  for  me 
to  sing,  but  I  have  something  in  my  mind  which  runs 
of  itself  into  a  song." 

"  You  had  better  not  exert  yourself,*'  said  the  kind 
adviser  in  a  soothing  tone. 

'*I  wish  in  that  way  to  tell  you  something  which 
you  may  like  to  know,"  said  Trolla  with  a  confiden- 
tial look. 

**  The  doctor  gave  orders  that  you  should  keep  calm 
and  not  sing." 

"But  I  must." 

*'  Well,  then,  that  is  best,"  said  the  clergyman. 

She  raised  herself  up  in  her  cliair,  and,  with  a  per- 
fect simplicity,  she  sang  her  song,  which  was  a  sort  of 
musical  confession  to  her  spiritual  friend. 

0  let  me  sing  while  I  am  here, 
One  birth-day  would  I  keep; 

And  though  I  drop  the  silent  tear, 
I  know  not  why  I  weep. 

1  have  no  want,  I  have  no  care, 
The  world  to  me  is  good, 

And  yet  there  comes  a  pain  to  bear, 
I  know  not  what  I  would. 

I  love  thee  well,  thou  pretty  earth, 
Be  thou  ray  mother  blest, 

0  give  me  back  once  more  my  birth, 
While  sleeping  on  thy  breast. 

Thy  silent  house  I  do  not  dread, 
Nor  fear  its  well  built  wall ; 

1  know  I  shall  rise  from  my  bed, 
When  once  I  hear  thy  call. 


362  THE    FREEBURGER8. 

She  had  hardly  ended  her  song,  and  fallen  back  into 
her  chair  in  a  relaxed  position,  when  she  saw  the 
old  singer  gliding  in  at  the  gate.  He  held  his  instru- 
ment under  his  arm,  and  it  was  clear  from  his  face  that 
he  had  brought  his  singing  mood  along.  He  quickly 
joined  the  little  company,  and  spoke  to  Trolla :  "I 
had  a  strange  longing  to  see  you  to-day.  Indeed  you 
have  never  been  out  of  my  heart  since  I  saw  you  under 
the  Tall  Apple  Tree.  I  could  not  remain  in  the  crowd, 
its  tumultuous  uncertainty  confused  me,  its  noises  deaf- 
ened the  ears  of  my  soul.  I  sauntered  along  the  road 
out  of  the  way,  I  heard  your  singing,  you  drew  me  in 
with  irresistible  power." 

Trolla  was  delighted  to  see  the  old  man  ;  her  excite- 
ment, great  as  it  was,  seemed  now  to  pass  under  some 
strong  control.  She  cried  out  with  a  look  that  shot 
rays  of  joy  almost  with  violence  upon  their  object : 
"  I  had  dreamed  of  this,  but  never  expected  it.  The 
moment  has  come ;  we,  too,  can  have  a  festival  just 
here  under  the  listening  leaves.  It  will  be  of  music 
and  song;  it  will  be  very  different  from  that  noisy 
celebration  of  the  railroad  outside  in  the  town.  The 
fancy  had  struck  me  before,  but  I  never  expected  it 
to  spring  out  of  my  brain  into  something  real  just  be- 
fore me,  as  it  has  done  now." 

The  two  men  were  surprised  at  the  declaration  of 
Trolla,  who  seemed  to  be  so  mature  in  her  experience 
and  thought.  She  spoke  again:  "  Let  us  not  delay. 
Good  father,  give  me  a  song  ;  this  air  of  Freeburg  to- 
day distracts  me,  sing  some  harmony  into  it,  that  it 
be  not  altogether  confusion." 

The  old  singer  joyfully  drew  forth  his  instrument, 


THE    CELEBRATION.  363 

saying:  "I  am  eager  to  do  what  you  wish.  I  feel 
like  celebrating  my  good  fortune  to-day,  while  others 
are  celebrating  theirs,  and  that  of  the  town."  He 
broke  at  once  boldly  into  his  song :  — 

If  I  but  go  into  the  wood, 

I  hear  it  touch  a  note ; 
It  starts  to  play  a  tuneful  mood, 

Then  sings  within  my  throat; 
And  if  I  walk  along  the  shore, 

The  sea  rolls  to  my  feet; 
Beneath  its  everlasting  roar, 

'Tis  giving  me  the  beat. 

O'er  hill  and  dale  the  song  I  sing. 

It  makes  the  world  a  lover ; 
The  sky  drops  from  her  breast  the  spring. 

The  earth  peeps  out  her  cover; 
From  every  little  plot  of  ground 

There  comes  a. merry  clinking; 
You  find,  if  you  but  catch  the  sound, 

That  nature  is  a-thinking. 

And  so  around  the  world  I  roam. 

My  feast  is  but  the  air, 
I  live  in  music  as  my  home, 

My  house  is  any  where  ; 
Then  let  me  pipe  ray  minstrelsy. 

Or  twang  the  thridded  string; 
A  rover  only  would  I  be 

And  to  the  sunlight  sing. 

The  old  man  thus  expressed  his  great  love  of  song 
and  the  freedom  of  song.  There  was  a  note  in  his 
strain  that  was  unusually  gay  ;  it  showed  him  in  a  new 
mood,  as  well  as  gave  a  glimpse  into  his  heart,  which 
could  also  be  inspired  by  the  happy  love  of  Euphro- 


364  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

syne.  The  life  of  the  roving  minstrel  was  not  now  a 
fateful  necessity,  but  a  free  choice. 

The  clerg3^man,  with  that  strong  interest  in  every 
human  soul,  which  has  been  noticed  as  his  chief  trait, 
was  stimulated  to  great  curiosity.  He  had  not  seen 
the  old  singer  before,  whose  wanderings  he  inquired 
about  and  whose  purpose  he  endeavored  to  probe, 
without  much  success.  But  that  which  fascinated  him 
was  the  art  of  the  singer ;  it  seemed  so  spontaneous 
and  yet  so  careful,  while  the  delivery  was  natural  and 
yet  full  of  grace. 

They  began  conversing.  The  clergyman  said  :  "  Old 
man,  you  have  become  dear  to  me  through  your  skill. 
I  can  see  that  you  have  not  only  sung  much,  but  you 
have  thought  much  about  your  singing.     Is  it  not  so  ?  " 

**  My  art  and  my  thought  are  one,*'  said  the  old 
man. 

"It  is  the  tendency,  perchance  unfortunate,  of  my 
mind,"  added  the  clergyman,  "  to  demand  that  thought 
be  put  into  the  limits  of  the  word  before  I  can  grasp  it. 
There  is  one  thing,  however,  which  I  have  never  been 
able  to  define.  Will  you  explain  it  to  me?  It  is 
plainlj''  the  inmost  kernel  of  your  life  and  living.  Tell 
me  what  is  poetry?  " 

*'  Do  you  expect  me  to  define  the  indefinable?" 

**  Possibly  you  may  be  able  to  do  something  of  the 
sort.*' 

"  Can  I  put  that  into  the  bonds  of  speech  which 
frees  the  soul  of  all  bonds  ?  " 

'*  My  answer  is  still  that  you  sing." 

The  old  man  reached  for  his  violin  and  touched  the 
strings  gently  with  thumb  and  forefinger,  which   was 


THE    CELEBRATION.  365 

often  his  method  of  ptting  himself  into  tune  before  he 
started  into  utterance.  He  spoke  as  it  were  to  himself . 
* '  What  is  poetry  ?    What  is  it  to  me  ?  " 

'Tis  a  shooting  star 

Born  of  another  world; 

Into  our  air  it  is  whirled 
And  takes  fire  from  afar, 

Just  at  its  birth. 

True  child  of  Heaven  and  Earth, 
A  flash  out  of  night  into  night, 
Leaving  a  long  track  of  light, 
Whose  beginning  and  end  reach  out  of  our  sight. 

The  old  man  had  scarcely  concluded  this  little 
snatch  of  verse,  when  Henry  came  into  the  yard  and 
saw  the  company  sitting  in  a  pleasant  group  under  the 
shade  of  the  trees.  He  had  also  heard  notes  of  the 
song  in  the  distance,  but  not  the  words.  The  3'outh's 
face  beamed  joy  and  hope;  he  had  just  received  his. 
father's  consent  to  go  to  college,  and  he  had  in  his 
pocket  Aunt  Polly's  first  supply  of  funds.  The  cele- 
bration in  the  village  did  not  take  hold  of  him 
strongly ;  his  spirit  felt  itself  breaking  out  of  the  egg- 
shell after  long  brooding,  and  promised  itself  soon  to 
have  wings.  Each  member  of  the  group  turned  toward 
him,  and  reflected  back  into  his  face  the  delight  of  his 
words,  as  he  cried  out  exultingly  at  some  distance: 
"  I  am  going.'* 

But  Trolla's  look  was  peculiar;  it  was  made  up  of 
delight  and  despair.  She  showed  a  sudden  flush,  a 
strong  internal  commotion ;  but  her  self-command 
bore  down  with  all  its  power,  she  even  calmed  herself, 
and  spoke  in  a  sort  of  musical  undulation,  as  if  her 


366  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

words  could  hardly  be  restrained  from  breaking  into 
melody:  "  1  have  a  song  which  I  have  been  trying  to 
piece  together  for  some  days.  I  could  not  quite  reach 
it  before,  but  now  I  believe  I  can."  Without  a 
moment's  delay,  she  looked  up  and  began  to  sing:  — 

I  stand  upon  a  mountain  high, 

And  look  beyond  the  dale; 
A  starry  face  is  in  the  sky, 

And  pulls  aside  its  veil. 

What  pang  is  thine,  thou  bonny  Miss, 

Tears  on  thy  cheek  now  shine  ? 
I  cannot  help  but  weep  for  bliss 

That  never  will  be  mine. 

My  star,  O  star,  why  gleam  so  high. 

Yet  tarry  in  my  view? 
My  love,  O  love,  why  me  deny 

Just  when  I  feel  thee  true? 

I  turn  from  that  high  mountain  top, 

A  lower  path  I  take ; 
I  see  a  piece  of  Heaven  drop, 

And  rest  in  yon  clear  lake. 

I  see  a  star  fall  in  it  too,  f 

And  twinkle  there  below ; 
I  now  look  down  on  Heaven's  blue, 

While  to  the  lake  I  go.  « 

—  Bend  hither,  bonny  maid,  to  play ; 
I  quit  my  throne  above 
To  dream  with  thee  the  world  away. 
And  give  thee  back  thy  love.  — 

The  waters  rise  and  roar  afar, 

Around  the  maid  they  rave ; 
She  bends  her  o'er  to  kiss  the  star, 

Then  sinks  beneath  the  wave . 


THE    CELEBRATION.  367 

The  clergyman  was  somewhat  puzzled  by  the  uncer- 
tain allusions  in  this  song.  He  did  not  fully  sympa- 
thize with  its  vein  at  first ;  still,  he  tried  on  the  spot  to 
think  it  over  honestly,  and  to  study  it  from  the  inside 
and  not  altogether  from  the  outside.  He  was  inclined 
to  regard  it  as  the  utterance  of  a  soul  somewhat  in- 
clined to  mysticism,  and  crushed  inwards  upon  itself 
by  destiny. 

Henry  at  first  hardly  listened  to  the  song,  he  was 
so  full  of  his  new  plan  and  of  himself.  But  one  note 
quickly  touched  his  interest,  then  another  went  to  his 
heart,  till  he  began  to  feel  her  meaning.  He  recog- 
nized certain  hints  of  old  ballads  which  he  had  read 
in  times  past  to  Trolla ;  his  surprise  was  great  to  see 
how  she  had  absorbed  and  reproduced  in  her  own  way 
certain  little  turns  of  thought  and  manner  in  these 
musical  pulsations  of  the  people's  mighty  heart.  He 
had  never  done  anything  of  the  kind  himself,  much  as 
he  enjoyed  the  reading  of  that  old  poetry.  The  end 
of  her  song  threw  him  wholly  out  of  one  world  into 
another.  He  also  pondered  upon  her  look,  and  the 
peculiar  intonation  of  her  voice.  What  secret  thought 
could  she  have  in  her  soul  to  make  such  a  song? 

But  the  person  who  most  completely  caught  its  weird 
influence,  as  well  as  its  rhythmical  swing  and  poetic 
sense  was  the  old  singer.  He  was  supremely  respon- 
sive to  Trolla' s  mood ;  both  their  natures  rose  and 
flowed  together  in  a  common  stream  through  the  upper 
world  of  poetry.  He  had  been  the  main  instrument 
of  making  her  closed  flower-life  open  into  its  first 
burst  of  song.  He  seemed  now  to  penetrate  her  mys- 
tery, and  to  sympathize  with  her  dark  struggles.     He 


368  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

changed  at  once  from  the  rollicking  vagabondism  of  his 
first  strain,  and  picked  up  the  same  tune  and  measure 
and  form  of  verse  which  Trolla  had  employed,  so  that 
in  certain  respects  it  seemed  a  continuation  of  her  song. 
Of  course  he  screwed  up  the  strings  and  put  his  violin 
in  tune  with  his  new  emotion ;  then  he  cast  his  eyes 
over  the  heads  of  his  little  company  and  beyond,  his 
voice  meanwhile  swaying  up  and  down  in  a  loftyroll : — 

I  swim  into  the  loving  sea, 

The  Sun  has  gone  to  rest ; 
The  Moon  and  Stars  now  swim  with  me, 

They  play  upon  my  breast. 

I  see  the  wooing  sky  descend 

Out  of  her  airy  home, 
And  round  me  in  the  water  bend, 

And  build  a  liquid  dome. 

The  Moon  has,  too,  in  smiles  come  down, 

I  splash  into  her  face, 
I  make  it  ripple  to  a  frown, 

And  then  her  form  embrace. 

I  boldly  swim  from  star  to  star. 

The  beaked  Moon  bestride, 
The  shining  shapes  I  can  not  mar; 

How  swiftly  runs  the  tide  I 

Then  rose  the  Lady  of  the  Mere, 

Just  where  the  billow  stirred; 
She  pressed  the  water  from  her  hair 

And  sang  a  magic  word . 

Swim,  further  swim  into  the  sea. 

And  further  into  night; 
The  Moon  and  Stars  will  swim  with  thee, 

Till  dawn  drop  into  sight. 


THE    CELEBRATION.  369 

The  company  were  not  in  a  critical  mood ;  they  ex- 
pressed their  sincere  satisfaction  at  this  little  lay  of 
the  old  singer.  The  clergyman  spoke:  "How  like 
your  song  is  to  TroUa's,  and  yet  how  different!  You 
have  caught  her  gait,  her  imagery,  even  her  mystery; 
your  look  and  tone  at  times  appeared  to  me  to  suggest 
hers.  Still  you  were  yourself,  you  seemed  to  pick  her 
up  where  she  was  lost  in  the  roar  of  the  waters,  and  to 
swim  with  her  out  to  shore  ;  you  were  in  song  her  res- 
cuer.'* 

In  the  meantime  the  noise  of  the  celebration  outside 
had  increased.  There  were  heard  the  shouts  of  men, 
the  clatter  of  wagons,  the  roar  of  cannon ;  the  great 
boisterous  world  swept  into  that  little  spot,  and  seemed 
almost  to  engulf  it,  but  the  old  singer's  voice  persisted 
the  more,  and  finally  rode  triumphantly  above  the 
mad  tumult  of  the  day.  In  song  as  well  as  in  life  he 
had  shown  himself  the  fate-compeller. 

TroUa  felt  the  mighty  stir  of  the  time,  she  grew 
more  excited,  though  her  two  previous  efforts  had  taxed 
her  above  her  strength.  She  had  no  Aunt  Polly  pres- 
ent to  moderate  her  intensity ;  she  looked  as  if  she 
was  trying  to  escape  her  earthly  bonds,  and  go  beyond. 
She  declared  that  the  poetic  festival  must  continue, 
and  assert  itself  as  equal  to  the  railroad  celebration. 
Several  times  she  placed  the  two  in  comparison  with 
each  other,  and  they  seemed  to  run  together  in  her 
mind.  By  chance  three  men  on  horseback  rode  by, 
one  behind  the  other,  and  seemed  to  look  at  her  while 
passing,  as  if  they  would  speali  to  her.  She  caught 
the  sudden  suggestion  from  seeing  them,  and  there 
came  into  her  memory  certain  touches  of  the  old  bal- 

24 


370  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

lad,  which  delights  in  the  number  three.     In  this  mood 
she  declaimed  rather  than  sung  the  folio  wing  verses:  — 

Three  men  came  riding  swiftly  by, 
And  greeted  me,  All  hail ! 
— Why  droops  to  earth  thy  weary  eye? 
Why  turns  thy  face  so  pale? — 

To  earth  must  droop  my  weary  eye, 

My  face  must  turn  so  pale, 
When  I  shall  hear  three  men  ride  by, 

And  shout  to  me,  All  hail ! 

— From  West  to  East,  from  East  to  West, 
We  ride  o'er  hill  and  dale; 
We  bid  the  worst,  we  bid  the  best; 
Pale  child,  what  doth  thee  ail? — 

One  looked  behind,  one  looked  ahead, 

While  passing  down  the  vale  ; 
One  looked  at  me,  as  on  he  sped, 


— I  come  to  bid  thee  to  the  feast. 
Be  present  without  fail.  — 
The  horsemen  rode  into  the  East, 
Still  shouting,  Hail,  all  hail ! 

The  child  so  pale  sprang  from  its  bed, 

And  followed  on  their  trail ; 
As  through  a  gate  of  clouds  it  sped. 

Beyond  was  heard.  All  hail! 

The  last  words  were  uttered  in  a  strange  supernat- 
ural cry,  with  a  look  peering  on  vacancy.  In  a 
sort  of  hysterical  scream  she  rose  from  the  couch,  and 
started  to  go  as  if  she  would  follow  the  real,  or  per- 
chance the  spectral  horsemen.     She  was  evidently  out 


THE    CELEBRATION.  371 

of  her  senses  for  a  moment,  her  excited  imagination 
had  shifted  her  from  the  moorings  of  reason.  Henry 
seized  her  by  the  arm  and  tried  to  soothe  her  troubled 
soul ;  he  spoke  to  her  in  a  caressing  tone  :  — 

"Trolla,  stay." 

At  once  she  stood  still,  when  she  heard  the  sound  of 
his  voice  pronouncing  her  name  with  so  much  tender- 
ness. Her  festal  hat  had  fallen  off,  he  replaced  it 
carefully  ;  the  wreath  too  lay  on  the  ground,  he  grace- 
fully put  it  around  the  hat  again.  She  looked  very 
pale  and  exhausted,  but  smiled  and  said :  — 

"  O  how  much  trouble  I  give.'* 

*'  We  are  glad  to  help  you,"  said  the  clergyman. 

*'  I  am  much  better.  Nothing  is  the  matter  with 
me  now."  She  spoke  in  order  to  divert  further  atten- 
tion from  her  physical  condition. 

The  report  of  a  cannon  again  sounded  through  the 
air.  She  turned  to  the  ancient  singer,  who  stood  near 
her  with  a  look  of  deep  sympathy ;  she  spoke  to  him  : 
"  Let  us  go  on  with  our  festival  too.  We  must  have 
another  song  and  you  must  sing  it.  Do  you  not  re- 
member the  verse  which  you  once  sang  under  the  Tall 
Apple  Tree?" 

"  I  have  sung  many  verses  there.  Can  you  not  tell 
me  what  it  was  about?" 

"  O,  yes  ;  it  had  in  it  a  rainbow,  that  bent  over  from 
the  tops  of  the  hills.     I  often  see  that  rainbow." 

"I  think  I  remember,"  said  the  old  man. 

*'Then  it  had  aline,  'O Shepherd,  come  over  to 
me,*  which  often  starts  to  singing  of  itself  through  my 
mind,  when  I  am  alone." 

"I  know  what  you   mean,"  said   the   singer.     He 


372  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

carefully  attuned  his  instrument,  played  a  short  pre- 
lude and  then  began :  — 

The  Shepherd  came  into  the  city, 

And  wandered  up  and  down; 
There  rang  in  his  ear  a  ditty, 

Through  all  the  din  of  the  town. 

From  the  hill-tops  a  rainbow  is  bending, 

It  reaches  far  over  the  sea ; 
And  a  song  I  hear  with  the  ending: 

0  Shepherd,  come  over  to  me. 

I  know  not  what  is  the  matter, 

That  song  rushes  into  my  head, 
Its  music  floats  over  the  clatter. 

But  she  who  once  sang  it  has  fled. 

I  see  my  old  flock  on  the  mountain, 

As  it  grazes  in  pasture  up  high; 
I  look  at  her  face  in  the  fountain, 

1  there  see  myself,  too,  and  sigh. 

Still  the  rainbow  yonder  is  bending, 

It  reaches  far  over  the  sea, 
And  a  song  I  hear  with  the  ending: 

O  Shepherd,  come  over  to  me. 

The  old  man's  voice  quivered  at  this  point,  he 
stopped,  he  was  for  a  moment  mastered  by  his  feel- 
ings.    Trollasaid:  — 

*'  You  sing  yourself  as  well  as  me  in  that  song.'* 

The  clergyman  spoke  up  to  relieve  the  company 
from  the  weight  of  emotion:  "  It  is  another  of  those 
ballads,  which  have  in  tbem  often  such  strange  sugges- 
tions of  the  supersensible  world." 

Trolla  said  to  the  old  man :  "  I  notice  you  have  sung 
several  new  verses ;  could  you  not  add  some  more  ?  " 


TfiE    CELEBRATION.  37^ 

'*  Your  instinct,*'  said  the  singer,  **  is  right;  there 
are  more  when  it  is  complete." 

*'  Will  you  not  give  me  a  copy?  '*  asked  the  clergy- 
man. '*I  notice  there  is  a  refrain  in  it  suitable  for 
children's  voices,  which  I  happen  just  now  to  be  train- 
ing in  chorus.*' 

"  We  shall  speak  of  that  together  hereafter,**  re- 
sponded the  old  man.     He  rose  to  depart. 

TroUa  laid  herself  back  upon  the  pillow  of  her  little 
couch,  she  spoke  more  calmly  than  she  had  at  any  time 
before  during  the  day:  "I  wish  you  to  complete  that 
song  and  sing  it  over  when  I  am  laid  to  rest.'* 

The  company  was  startled,  yet  deeply  affected  by 
these  words.  They  seemed  like  a  last  request ;  they 
carried  with  them  the  unquestioned  tone  of  certain 
prophecy.  Trolla  observed  the  effect  of  her  speech, 
and  wished  to  soften  the  sad  expectancy  of  her  hear- 
ers ;  she  put  on  her  most  joyous  air,  she  detained  the 
company  which  was  about  to  break  up,  exclaiming: 
**  Do  not  go,  the  festival  is  not  yet  over ;  there  is 
something  still  to  be  celebrated."  To  the  old  singer 
she  spoke:  "You  and  I  must  sing  a  strain  together. 
We  have  hitherto  sung  separately,  now  it  must  be  in 
unison  at  last,  and  let  that  be  the  end." 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  in  perplexity  and  ex- 
claimed:  "  How  can  it  be  done?  " 

*'  Do  you  not  remember  the  verse  you  once  sang  to 
me  about  the  rising  and  the  setting  sun  ?  I  iiave  not 
forgotten  it,  and  especially  I  cherish  the  end  which 
said  that  both  were  the  same." 

*'  Ah,  yes ;  I  call  it  to  mind." 

"Sing  that." 


374  THE   FREKBURGERS. 

The  old  man  turned  back  to  Trolla  and  prepared  to 
obey  her  request.  He  looked  at  her  with  a  sympathy 
which  reached  down  to  the  sources  of  their  common 
existence,  and  then  repeated  the  lines  which  he  had 
once  before  sang  to  her  in  a  deeply  congenial 
mood :  — 

Bright  child,  thy  rising  sun 

May  seem  ray  setting  one, 
But  if  we  look  beyond  to  whence  they  came, 
The  rising  and  the  setting  sun  are  both  the  same. 

But  no  sooner  had  he  started  to  sing  the  first  word, 
than  Trolla  also  began  and  sang  to  the  same  measure 
and  tune.  She  had  caught  up  the  strain  from  memory, 
or  perchance  from  a  foreboding  suggestion  deeper  than 
memory.  Her  notes  as  well  as  her  manner  and  gest- 
ures strangely  corresponded  to  those  of  the  old  singer, 
and  formed  a  duet  of  melodious  action  upborne  on  the 
sweet  waves  of  song.  Her  words  w^ere  in  the  begin- 
ning a  little  different  from  his,  but  they  were  in  the 
end  just  the  same,  so  that  the  two  voices  fell  into 
complete  unison  in  the  final  couplet.  Thus  her  whole 
verse  ran :  — 

Old  man,  thy  setting  sun 

May  seem  my  rising  one, 
But  if  we  look  beyond  to  whence  they  came, 
The  rising  and  the  setting  sun  are  both  the  same. 

The  last  two  lines  they  sang  in  perfect  concord  and 
with  great  heartiness,  yet  with  a  deep  sense  of  peace. 
So  strong  was  this  feeling  that  a  repetition  of  the  final 
couplet  followed  quite  unconsciously  on  the  part  of 


THE    CELEBRATION.  375 

both,    and  held  the   two   suns  in   unity  here    a    few 
moments  longer. 

As  the  last  note  died  away,  Aunt  Polly  was  seen 
coming  through  the  gate.  She  called  out  to  Trolla 
from  the  distance  not  to  exert  herself  by  singing. 
The  old  man  at  once  bade  the  company  good-bye, 
saying:  "  Now  I  must  go  to  the  other  celebration  ;  it 
has  for  me  an  attraction  which  I  did  not  feel  before." 
Trolla  was  helped  to  her  room,  though  she  cast  back 
repeated  glances  toward  the  little  group,  which  soon 
had  scattered  in  various  directions.  The  poetical 
tournament  of  the  old  and  the  young  singer  had  come 
to  an  end. 


In  the  meantime,  during  the  afternoon,  the  speaking 
took  place  on  the  Public  Square  before  a  great  multi- 
tude of  people,  who  had  come  from  the  surrounding 
country.  All  predicted  a  cloudless  future  for  Free- 
burg  ;  the  glory  of  Snaptown  had  set  forever.  Some 
citizens  from  the  latter  town  were  present ;  their  long 
faces  gave  a  silent  echo  to  the  loud  huzzas  of  the 
happy  Freeburgers. 

Tlie  first  speech  was  made  by  a  young  attorney, 
who  had  been  already  engaged  by  the  railroad.  He 
defended  it,  he  praised  it,  he  lampooned  its  enemies ; 
then  he  took  a  flight  on  the  wings  of  splendor.  He 
wreathed  the  track  and  the  iron  horse  in  festoons  of 
flowery  rhetoric  ;  he  pictured  the  ditch  of  dirty  water  ; 
he  showed  it  running  dry  gradually,  until  the  canal 
boat  stuck  fast  in  the  mud,  while  in  the  distance  is 
seen  the  new  engine  of  civilization,  puffing  dense  fumes 


376  THE   FREEBURGieRS. 

into  the  clear  air,  and  rushing  over  everything  that 
stands  in  its  way.  The  young  orator  knew  his  audi- 
ence ;  he  gave  many  little  side  thrusts  at  Snaptown, 
which  were  answered  with  cheers  and  laughter. 

On  such  an  occasion  Judge  Allworthy  could  not  be 
left  out.  He  took  the  platform  with  great  dignity,  and 
spoke  in  well-selected  words  his  most  careful  periods. 
He  shared  in  the  general  enthusiasm,  but  he  did  not 
leave  his  caution  at  home.  He  had  great  hopes,  but 
with  them  were  mingled  certain  premonitions,  of  which 
he  would  ndt  then  speak.  The  revolution  in  commer- 
cial, and  consequently  in  social  life,  was  too  far-reach- 
ing for  him  to  fathom  at  the  start.  "  We  shall  gain 
much,"  he  said,  *' but  we  shall  lose  something;  our 
simple  way  of  living  and  thinking  we  must  expect  to 
see  depart  forever.'* 

Thus  the  Judge  continued  to  speak,  perspicuously, 
impartially,  judicially ;  his  decision,  after  much  bal- 
ancing, was,  on  the  whole,  in  favor  of  the  railroad.  At 
the  close  of  his  address,  he  said :  "  Fellow-citizens,  we 
have  among  us,  on  a  visit,  a  gentleman  of  distinguished 
family  belonging  to  the  Old  Dominion.  I  would  ask 
you  to  call  for  Mr.  Charles  Tournefort." 

A  hearty  shout  was  given  in  response,  when  Mr. 
Tournefort  rose,  and  began  to  talk  in  a  familiar,  one 
may  say,  domestic  manner:  "  My  friends,  you  must 
not  expect  a  speech.  I  am  no  orator.  But  I  would 
like  to  recall  to  your  minds  my  native  State,  so  dear 
to  me,  and  hint  what  you  owe  to  her  —  you  who  are 
heirs  of  the  great  new  life  springing  up  in  this  part  of 
the  world.     I  speak  of  Virginia.'' 

At  this  moment  he  cast  his  eyes  over  the  audience 


THE    CELEBRATION.  377 

and  saw,  not  far  away,  Miss  Hope  Winslow,  listening 
intently.  She  threw  at  him  a  strong  look.  He  seemed 
to  bend  his  head  and  turn  aside  a  little,  then  he  went  on : 
*'  I  see  two  tendencies  in  this  Nation  from  the  begin- 
ning ;  the  one  comes  from  New  England,  the  other  from 
Virginia.  The  people  of  New  England  are  those  who 
stir  up  the  inner  man,  who  cherish  and^cultivate  the 
moral  spirit ;  they  are  always  stirring  up  themselves  and 
their  neighbors ;  they  are  the  agitators,  fomenters, 
quickeners  of  duty.  They  doubtless  brought  on  the 
old  American  Revolution,  and  will  bring  on  the  new." 
Here  he  looked  at  Miss  Winslow.  He  was  really 
speaking  to  her,  and  to  her  alone.  He  felt  it,  he  re- 
solved to  change  the  current  of  his  thought  and 
speech.  He  turned  by  slieer  force  to  another  part  of 
the  audience  and  continued:  "But  when  independ- 
ence was  won,  when  the  separation  from  the  mother 
country  had  taken  place  and  the  old  order  was  over- 
thrown, who  established  the  new  order  out  of  the 
chaos?  It  was  the  Virginia  statesmen,  those  who  had 
the  chief  hand  in  forming  the  Constitution.  It  was 
the  early  Virginia  Presidents,  who  put  this  Anglo- 
Saxon  portion  of  the  Western  world  under  law  and  a 
stable  government,  which  the  Spanish  Republics  have 
not  yet  succeeded  in  doing  completely.  It  was  a  Vir- 
ginia Chief  Justice,  John  Marshall,  who,  if  he  did  not 
make,  interpreted  and  confirmed  the  Constitution, 
which,  like  the  oracles  of  Delphi,  needed  an  interpreter 
before  it  could  be  put  into  practice.  Will  you  blame  me 
if  I  still  feel  attached  to  my  old  home  and  its  spirit?" 
At  once  there  broke  forth  from  the  audience  a  thun- 
derous no,  as  a  good  many  Virginians  were  present. 


378  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

The  speaker  had  again  involuntarily  turned  around 
to  Miss  Winslow.  "But,"  said  he,  "this  spirit  of 
Virginia  <?an  be  reconciled  with  that  of  New  England. 
There  should  be  no  antagonism,  but  a  complete  union 
and  co-operation  for  the  good  of  the  whole  country.'* 
He  again  became  aware  of  that  persistent  personality 
which  he  was  addressing.  But,  as  the  applause  liad 
broken  off  his  remarks,  he  thought  it  a  fair  opportunity 
to  conclude,  and  he  sat  down. 

When  he  had  taken  his  seat,  his  eyes  flew  across  the 
audience,  and  could  not  help  lighting  upon  Miss  Wins- 
low,  whose  face  was  illuminated  with  a  very  pleasing 
smile  streaked  with  tinges  of  red.  He  thought  she 
seemed  more  handsome  than  usual ;  certainly  there 
was  a  recognizing  sparkle  in  her  eye.  He  also  thought 
he  saw  her  stealthily  applauding  that  last  remark  of 
his ;  but  she  was  the  soul  of  propriety  and  very  secre- 
tive ;  probably  his  imagination  in  this  matter  plaj^ed 
him  a  little  trick.  Still,  whether  true  or  false,  it 
gave  him  greater  pleasure  than  all  the  other  approba- 
tion combined. 

While  the  speaking  continued,  he  slipped  down  from 
the  platform  to  catch  a  breath  of  fresh  air,  and  began 
to  take  a  stroll  away  from  the  crowd.  He  went  off  to 
one  side  where  he  saw  a  small  group  of  men  surround- 
ing somebody  who  was  singing.  The  notes  seemed  to 
calm  his  agitated  feehngrs  and  he  advanced  toward  the 
spot,  thinking  of  that  persistent  face  which  he  always 
saw  before  him  during  his  speech. 

He  paced  along  rather  oblivious,  when  suddenly 
there  stood  before  him  a  female  figure ;  he  looked  up 
half  startled,  it  was  Miss  Winslow  who  had  also  sought 


THE    CELEBRATrON.  379 

relief  in  tiie  same  way  from  the  pressure  of  the  crowd. 
She  smiled  and  spoke  in  friendly  tones :  — 
"1  congratulate  you  upon  your  speech.'* 
Mr.  Tournefort  gave  a  grimace  which  tried  to  show 
his    disapproval    of    a    welcome    compliment,     then 
added :  — 

'*  Speech-making  is  not  my  strong  point." 
*'  I  would  not  measure  you  by  that  standard  alone," 
she  said  with  a  humorous  self-possession,  which  dashed 
Mr.  Tournefort.  "  But  it  was  a  very  good  beginning," 
she  continued,  ''you  will  advance  further  before  the 
end." 

There  was  an  indefinable  mastery  about  her ;  it  was 
one  of  her  supreme  moments.  Charles  Tournefort 
declared  to  himself  as  he  looked  upon  her  complete 
self-possession  that  she  was  beautiful,  a  very  sure  sign 
that  he  was  going  blind,  while  keeping  his  eye-sight  — 
a  well-known  malady  which  the  oculist  cannot  cure. 

The  two  had  come  to  the  edge  of  the  small  group 
who  had  formed  a  circle  around  an  old  man  who  sang 
and  played  the  fiddle.  He  held  that  little  company 
by  his  music  and  song,  while  the  great  mass  listened 
to  the  speakers  who  talked  of  commerce,  money,  rail- 
roads. It  was  the  old  singer  who  had  but  a  little 
while  before  arrived  from  Trolla's  festival.  He  had 
been  previously  invited  to  show  his  art  and  compose  a 
poem  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  but  he  had  abruptly 
declined.  Gain  was  not  to  be  sung  for  or  sung  about, 
according  to  his  view.  He  would  not  celebrate  the 
might  of  steam  and  coal,  which  were  so  disfiguring  the 
beautiful  face  of  nature,  that  she  was  becoming  a  hor- 
ror.    The  iron-horse  did  not  strike  his  imagination. 


380  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

His  small  audience  loved  the  soDgs  of  the  olden  time ; 
so  he  always  had  some  listeners.  Thus  it  is  that  the 
poet  in  all  this  wealth  of  modern  life  is  the  beggar. 

The  old  man  had  just  completed  a  short  verse  as  he 
saw  the  couple  approach.  He  gazed  first  upon  the 
woman  with  a  wonder  which  for  a  time  held  his  hand 
from  his  instrument.  Then  he  looked  at  the  man, 
then  at  both,  as  they  stood  there  before  him.  The 
crowd  turned  to  see  what  had  attracted  his  attention, 
and  eyed  the  pair.  When  he  observed  that  he  had 
made  them  objects  of  an  unpleasant  curiosity,  he 
turned  away  his  glance  in  the  opposite  direction,  and 
addressed  the  company :  *'  I  can  now  sing  you  a  little 
song  of  the  railroad :  "  — 

There  is  a  city  of  the  head, 

A  city  of  the  heart, 
Though  often  they  have  tried  to  wed, 

As  oft  they  grow  apart. 

The  lover  then  a  railroad  throws 

Between  the  cities  twain; 
The  greater  now  each  city  grows, 

The  faster  runs  the  train. 

When  he  had  finished  the  last  verse,  he  raised  his 
eyes  in  a  sly  way  toward  the  couple,  who  had  taken  a 
stolen  look  at  each  other.  The  little  group  of  by- 
standers hardly  understood  the  song,  but  they  inter- 
preted it  by  the  direction  of  the  old  man's  eyes. 
Again  the  pair  were  subject  to  a  small  shower  of  gazes, 
not  dangerous  but  not  comfortable.  It  was  a  little 
dilemma,  but  suddenly  everybody's  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  the  loud  laughter  of  the  large  crowd  around 


THE    CELEBRATION.  381 

the  speaker's  stand.  The  uproar  continued,  all  ran 
to  see  what  was  going  on,  the  little  group  was  torn 
asunder  by  curiosity,  even  the  old  singer  put  up  his 
instrument  and  moved  forward  to  observe  the  new 
entertainment. 

A  strange  sight  was  seen  upon  the  platform.  It 
seems  that  volunteer  speeches  had  been  called  for, 
when  a  man  with  an  odd  face,  on  which  protruded  a 
big  nose,  came  forward,  slowly  ascended  the  stand 
and  began  to  speak.  He  had  a  grotesque  humor  not 
merely  in  his  words,  but  also  in  his  actions,  which 
made  every  person  in  the  audience  titter,  though  no- 
body quite  understood  what  he  meant.  He  spoke  at 
first  in  broken  English,  which  still  further  set  off  his 
comic  lineaments,  a  little  stammer  often  dammed  up 
the  stream  of  his  talk,  which  then  would  break  out  in 
one  vast  overflow  of  huge  fragments,  carrying  away 
the  whole  audience  in  a  great  laugh.  It  could  not  be 
fully  ascertained  whether  the  fellow  was  in  jest  or  in 
earnest.  He  would  assume  a  serious  cast  of  the 
features,  speak  profoundly,  even  feelingly  of  the  most 
important  matters  of  life  ;  then  he  would  make  faces, 
start  to  playing  the  clown,  roar  with  his  leonine  voice, 
and  drive  his  hands  through  his  long  hair. 

But  his  chief  peculiarity  was  his  mystical  way  of 
speaking.  His  talk  would  run  along  perfectly  clear, 
pellucid  as  the  brook,  then  it  would  take  a  sudden  dive 
underground,  disappear  wholly  to  the  common  eye, 
and  leave  his  audience  groping  in  the  dark  for  some 
fleeting  sense.  He  would  string  together  a  strange 
medley  of  long  words,  which,  singly  taken,  were  plain 
English,  but,  united  into  a  sentence,  had  no  meaning 


382  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

to  his  hearers.  Sometimes  they  thought  he  was  mak- 
ing game  of  the  whole  audience,  and  secretly  having 
the  fun  all  to  himself,  so  imperturbable,  so  infallible, 
so  well-satisfied  with  himself  did  he  appear.  Still  he 
made  the  speech  of  the  occasion,  in  fact,  he  impressed 
all  persons  as  the  man  of  genius ;  every  other  utter- 
ance seemed  but  a  stale  common-place  alongside  of 
what  he  said. 

Mr.  Tournefort  and  Miss  Winslow  came  up  to  the 
border  of  the  crowd  and  listened.  "There,"  said 
she,  "  that  is  our  mysterious  stranger,  who  has  exer- 
cised such  fascination  over  your  nephew  Henry.  I 
have  an  aversion  for  him." 

The  response  given  by  Mr.  Tournefort  was: 
"  Listen."  He  drew  his  note-book  and  took  the  fol- 
lowing report,  hap-hazard,  from  what  he  heard.  The 
man  continued  his  remarks,  as  follows :  "  You  have, 
in  this  railroad,  turned  loose  among  you  a  mighty 
animal,  far  stronger  than  any  in  Nature,  tamed  to 
carry  your  burdens  and  moving  at  a  prodigious  velo- 
city;  still  there  is  an  untamed  streak  in  him,  which 
may  yet  throw  you  who  ride  on  his  back.  He  has  a 
wild  trait,  unreclaimed  by  civilization ;  he  will  yet  run 
into  your  social  system.  Not  his  collision  with  pigs, 
sheep,  horses,  or  even  with  men  do  I  fear,  but  his 
collision  with  institutions." 

At  this  point  the  speaker  made  a  dive  out  of  sight, 
and  the  reporter,  Mr.  Tournefort,  could  not  follow 
him.  For  it  requires  a  man  to  understand  well  in 
order  to  report  well.  The  time  for  setting  down  the 
words  was  spent  in  the  vain  attempt  to  fathom  their 
The  speaker  had  lost  his  audience,  but  he 


THE    CELEBRATION.  383 

soon  rose  to  the  surface  again  with  a  thought  which 
they  all  understood  ;  — 

"  I  say  that  these  iron  bands  have  a  higher  purpose 
than  commerce.  The  hand  of  man  has  laid  them  down 
upon  the  wrinkled  face  of  the  earth,  but  the  hand  of 
Providence  may  also  be  seen  fastening  these  rails  with 
spikes  which  are  to  stay  forever.  This  double  hoop 
in  our  presence  runs  north  and  south,  it  will  reach 
from  the  Lakes  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  bind  this 
country  into  an  indissoluble  union.  Every  blow  struck 
upon  a  nail  to  fasten  these  mighty  bars  is  a  blow  struck 
upon  a  nail  in  the  coffin  of  disunion." 

A  little  ghastly  this,  but  further  utterance  was 
drowned  by  the  welkin-smiting  cheers  of  the  multitude. 
Mr.  Tournefort  had  time  to  jot  a  remark  in  his  note- 
book: "  I  do  not  believe  it."  Miss  Winslow  at  his 
side  whispered:  ''He  has  hit  the  nail  on  the  head 
this  time,  though  the  nail  be  in  a  coffin." 

The  speaker,  after  the  noise  had  subsided,  went  on: 
"  I  hear  that  Northern  capital  has  built  this  road  into 
the  distant  South.  In  such  great  works  of  construc- 
tion, which  mark  new  epochs,  there  are  always  two 
designs,  the  conscious  and  the  unconscious ;  I  for  my 
part  must  see  both.  Above  all  planning,  there  is  an  in- 
stinct at  work  which  has  made  this  railroad  ;  its  build- 
ers have  builded  wiser  than  they  knew  ;  their  conscious 
design  was  to  carry  cotton  and  merchandise,  but  the 
unconscious  design  written  everywhere  upon  it  is  to 
transport  armies." 

Murmurs  here  arose,  decided  marks  of  disapproba- 
tion followed  these  words.  The  audience,  composed 
of  both  political  parties,  would  not  listen  to  such  a 


384  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

hint,  they  resented  even  a  prophecy  of  that  sort.  Mr. 
Tournefort  lost  at  once  his  admiration  for  the  man, 
and  Miss  Winslow  became  positively  acrid.  The 
speaker  felt  that  he  had  put  his  hearers  out  of  tune 
by  the  discordant  buzzing  and  interruption.  Finally 
his  roaring  voice  rose  above  the  chaos  of  sound,  as  he 
gave  a  new  turn  to  an  old  figure,  which  brought  with 
it  a  relapse  into  burlesque  grimaces  and  comic  at- 
titudes ;  for  just  when  the  locomotive  approached,  he 
shouted :  — 

*'  Behold  the  huge  monster,  foreshadowed  in  ancient 
imagination  by  the  fire-breathing  Chimsera  —  now  a 
reality.  See,  it  is  self-moving,  like  an  animate  being, 
yet  it  is  a  machine  —  the  new  complete  mechanism 
running  on  its  own  legs,  driven  from  within  somewhere 
like  man  himself.  Those  mighty  obstructions  weigh- 
ing down  the  Universe  —  Space  and  Time  —  it  lightly 
tosses  out  of  its  way,  on  its  cow-catcher,  and  rolls 
ahead  upon  its  predestined  track,  inevitable  as  Provi- 
dence. Who  dares  stand  before  it  in  act  of  resist- 
ance? No,  jump  on  rather,  it  will  fleet  thee  out  of  the 
old  world  into  the  new.  Methinks,  it  is  the  veritable 
modern  giant,  not  an}''  of  the  ancient  ones,  not  Her- 
cules, not  Sampson  ;  it  is  the  new  Titan  striking  with 
huge  sinews  of  steel  day  aftd  night,  and  never  getting 
tired  through  toil.  Or  it  may  be  the  very  Devil 
with  plenty  of  fire  in  his  belly,  sending  forth  into  this 
upper  world  steam  and  smoke  in  prodigious  belches ; 
possibly  it  is  Hell  itself,  which  is  going  to  burn  up 
some  people,  if  they  do  not  take  care." 

At  this  point  the  lurid  imagery  was  lost  in  the  smoke 
which  it  had  created,  and  the  man  seemed  to  turn  a 


THE    CELEBRATION.  385 

fiend  in  his  grinnings,  contortions,  and  bellowings. 
Tlie  curious  fact  is,  tliat  the  people  enjoyed  mightily 
the  diabolic  spectacle  ;  they  laughed  and  howled,  and 
hooted,  and  leaped  into  the  air,  as  if  possessed  by 
that  magic  presence ;  they  were  be-devDed  by  the 
demoniac  spirit  before  them.  Women  were  frightened, 
brave  Miss  Winslow  was  a  picture  of  horror.  The 
speaker  looked  at  his  audience,  and  suddenly  grew 
calm ;  he  seemed  to  see  his  own  image  and  to  shrink 
back  from  it ;  his  face  took  on  its  serene  prophetic 
look,  the  people  followed  his  face  and  were  soon  again 
serene.  A  little  whistling  of  the  tempest  was  heard, 
when  he  began  once  more :  — 

"  You  have  installed  to-da}'  a  new  ruler  greater  than 
President,  King,  or  Emperor ;  it  is  a  ruler  who  makes 
the  price  of  everything  you  produce,  who  settles  what 
you  shall  wear,  eat,  and  drink,  howj^ou  shall  live,  how 
die  and  how  be  buried.  It  has  the  mightiest  authority, 
autocratic,  not  limited  by  any  law  but  its  own  ;  it  will 
require  a  new  transformation  of  the  legislative,  execu- 
tive, and  judicial  power  to  subject  its  despotic  sway. 
It  puts  the  value,  I  say,  upon  your  house,  your  farm, 
your  labor,  your  life.  Veritably  it  is  the  new  Mon- 
arch—  will  it  be  a  tyrant?  Will  its  rule  be  just  or 
unjust?  Furthermore  will  it  respect  Law  and  the 
Constitution?  Will  it  respect  even  Conscience?  Or 
does  it  not  threaten  —  look  at  its  mighty  movement  — 
to  break  through  them  all,  smiting  earth-shaking 
blows  with  its  thews  of  iron?  " 

The  people  here  turned  and  looked  at  the  locomotive, 
and  the  man  continued:  "  On  all  sides  one  beholds 
forces  arming  against  the  established  order.     I  see  the 

25 


886  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

onslaught  in  this  locomotive;  is  a  demon  or  a  deity? 
Certainly  it  is  a  despot,  not  a  political  one  perchance, 
but  a  commercial  one,  subjecting  every  man  by  con- 
trolling each  mouthful  of  his  food.  Oh  my  friends, 
I  am  afraid  it  is  too  great  for  our  present  institu- 
tions ;  we  have  made  an  enoine  mightier  than  our 
ability  to  control ;  it  will  assail,  or  buy  out,  or  defy 
the  Law,  it  will  intimidate  or  purchase  the  Legislator, 
the  Judge,  the  President  himself.  I  repeat,  it  threatens 
all  institutional  order,  and  it  threatens  your  new  God, 
Conscience,  who  also  is  threatening  Law." 

Here  there  were  both  merriment  and  disapproval. 
The  coupling  together  of  the  Locomotive  and  Con- 
science made  a  grotesque  team,  which  aroused  the 
humor  of  a  part  of  the  audience.  But  another  part 
of  it  were  scandalized  at  the  manner  in  which  the 
speaker  treated  what  they  regarded  as  their  most 
sacred  possession.  Both  seemed  to  be  set  down  by 
him  as  the  great  law-breakers  of  the  time.  Miss 
Winslow,  in  particular,  had  her  aversion  aroused  to  the 
highest  pitch,  and  she  began  to  grow  unlovely  in  satire. 
Mr.  Tournef ort,  however,  had  recovered  his  interest ; 
the  speech  had  touched  a  profound  chord  in  his  soul. 

When  the  audience  had  become  somewhat  quiet,  the 
speaker  began  afresh:  "The  railroad  means  a  new 
world.  This  State  is  reduced  at  a  blow  to  one-fourth 
its  size,  to  such  a  degree  has  Space  sunk  away  into 
Time.  Ten  years  hence  it  will  not  have  one-tenth  of 
its  present  magnitude.  Still  you  will  possess  all  your 
acres,  but  increased  tenfold  in  value.  This  planet 
with  its  girdle  of  25,000  miles  is  rapidly  diminishing  to 
a  point.     But  how  shall  we  put  this  great  instrument 


THE    CELEBRATION.  387 

under  Law,  nay,  under  Conscience,  which  "  —  at  this 
point  the  people  broke  out  into  impatience,  and  the  end 
of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  a  buzz  of  words  and  in  a 
general  breaking  up  of  the  crowd.  They  did  not  wish 
to  hear  prophecy,  the  present  was  their  all-engrossing 
fact.  It  was  a  joyous  celebration,  let  the  future  take 
care  of  its  devils,  we  have  enough  of  our  own.  Thus 
the  prophet  was  cut  off  in  the  middle  of  his  sentence, 
just  in  the  act  of  giving  the  warning  and  proposing  the 
remedy,  while  the  people  broke  out  everj^where  into  a 
frenzy  of  jubilation.  He  went  down  from  the  plat- 
form;  as  he  descended  the  last  step,  he  remarked  to 
the  few  who  stood  around  him  and  still  listened :  ''I 
shall  complete  that  sentence  some  time  in  the  next  de- 
cade ;  then  I  think  you  all  will  be  ready  to  hear  me." 
In  spite  of  every  drawback,  the  speech  of  the 
stranger,  who,  the  reader  doubtless  understands,  is 
none  other  than  our  heavy-shod  pedestrian,  made  a 
strong  impression,  especially  upon  the  thinking  part  of 
the  audience.  It  is  true,  that  Miss  Winslow,  with  a 
violence  and  prejudice  quite  unusual  with  her,  was 
ready  to  pronounce  the  man  immoral,  if  not  crazy. 
Possibly  there  might  be^in  her  a  tinge  of  jealousy  ;  his 
genius  seemed  to  spurn  her  power,  and  often  ran 
counter  to  her  influence  ;  he  wrought  strongly  upon  her 
favorite  pupil,  Henry  Firestone,  who  was  present  to- 
day, and  who  vaguely  felt  the  purport  of  the  speech. 
Mr.  Tournefort  was  perhaps  more  deeply  moved  than 
any  other  listener.  The  speaker  had  voiced  many  of 
his  thoughts,  many  of  his  presentiments,  and  had  also 
roused  many  new  thoughts  and  many  new  presenti- 
ments.    In  this  state  of  mind  he  turned  and  looked 


388  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

agaia  at  Miss  Winslow ;  she  was  no  longer  so  beauti- 
ful. He  begged  permission  to  leave  her,  and  started 
on  his  way  home. 

The  speaker  was  moving  through  the  crowd,  and 
was  everywhere  exciting  a  silent  attention  by  his  stal- 
wart form  and  strong  features.  He  passed  near  Mr. 
Tournefort,  who  eyed  him  closely,  and  was  surprised 
to  find  in  him  the  strange  fellow  who  had  been  loiter- 
ing about  the  inn.  Mr.  Tournefort  could  not  help 
thinking  of  the  letter  which  he  wrote  there ;  he  dodged 
into  the  crowd  away  from  the  sight  of  the  man  and 
from  his  own  uneasiness. 

The  speaker  had  reached  the  border  of  the  assem- 
blage; he  had  still  his  rapt,  nay,  prophetic  look. 
There  he  found  the  old  singer  standing  alone  and 
gazing  upon  the  multitude.  The  two  approached  and 
saluted  each  other  with  great  heartiness ;  there  was  a 
deep  recognition  of  their  spirits.  The  old  man  had 
ceased  his  song,  and  had  put  up  his  violin ;  but  he 
leaned  over,  and  recited  in  a  low  tone :  — 

The  Prophet  is  never  a  Prophet 

Unless  he  be  stoned; 
The  King  of  Kings  is  no  King 

Till  he  has  been  dethroned; 
And  Virtue  itself  hath  no  virtue 

Till  it  has  been  atoned; 
Of  Virtue,  Prophet  and  King, 

Now  I  can  sing. 

The  pedestrian  looked  at  the  old  man  and  began  to 
laugh ;  his  face  was  transmuted  on  the  spot  into  that 
of  a  clown ;  his  prominent  features  fell  flat  into  an 
impish  grin,  as  he  started  to  speak:  *' Dear  old  fel- 


THE    CELEBRATION.  389 

low,  the  whole  thing  is  a  comedy,  in  which  I  and  the 
audience  are  actors,  and  we  cannot  help  ourselves. 
Do  you  not  see  that  something  has  a  hold  of  us,  and  is 
dragging  us  on?  Prophecy  too  has  its  comic  mask. 
You  force  me  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  to  be  guilty 
of  a  verse  of  poetry.     Here  it  runs :  — 

Men  stone  the  Prophet  and  then  bemoan  him, 
But  this  is  not  the  whole  story  of  it; 

For  every  fool,  if  men  but  stone  him, 
Will  think  that  he  too  is  the  Prophet." 

A  low  modest  laugh  was  heard,  the  pedestrian 
looked  up  and  found  that  it  came  from  Henry  Fire- 
stone, who  had  joined  the  little  group.  The  man 
spoke  to  thejouth:  "Come  to  my  room  to-morrow 
and  get  your  book."  With  these  words  he  started 
off ;  the  old  singer  had  already  slipped  quietly  away ; 
Henry  bent  his  steps  slowly  homewards. 

VI. 

The  afternoon  was  declining  toward  evening ;  the 
various  members  of  the  Firestone  family  had  gathered 
at  their  residence,  wearied  with  the  excitement  of  the 
day.  Still  the  conversation  could  not  be  repressed  by 
fatigue.  Mr.  Tournefort  began  praising  the  speech 
of  the  stranger. 

'*  What  part  of  it  did  you  like?  "  asked  Mr.  Fire- 
stone. 

''  I  was  particularly  impressed  by  that  portion  in 
which  he  portrayed  the  influences  at  work  here  among 
you  in  hostility  to  the  established  order  of  society.     I 


390  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

have  felt  the  same  thing  myself,  and  I  was  glad  to  find 
my  feeling  confirmed,"  said  Mr.  Tournefort. 

"I  must  confess  the  general  tenor  of  his  speech 
did  not  please  me.  It  seemed  to  me  to  be  hostile  to 
the  most  sacred  principles  of  the  human  heart,"  de- 
clared Mr.  Firestone  with  some  intensity. 

*'The  man  was  repugnant  to  me,"  Miss  Wanda 
added. 

"Nothing  good  can  come  from  such  a  source,"  in- 
terjected Mr.  Firestone. 

"Never  mind  the  man,"  said  Mr.  Tournefort.  "The 
qu-estion  for  you  and  me  is,  Did  he  tell  us  the  truth? 
Did  his  candle  give  us  some  light,  oven  if  the  grease 
of  which  it  was  made,  was  a  little  rancid  and  mal-odor- 
ous?" 

"  1  judge  the  word  by  the  man,"  retorted  the  young 
lady. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  is  woman's  way  generally,"  said 
Uncle  Charles  with  a  smile. 

"  My  dear  daughter,"  interrupted  Mr.  Firestone, 
"personal  considerations  cannot  determine  principles. 
Now  I  am  free  to  say  that  I  dislike  the  principles 
which  the  man  expressed." 

"  I  must  confess,"  responded  Mr.  Tournefort,  "  he 
was  bold ;  he  told  you  unpleasant  truths  about  your- 
selves to  your  faces.  That  is,  I  grant,  by  most  peo- 
ple unforgivable." 

"What,  for  instance?"  asked  Mr.  Firestone  with 
some  heat. 

Mr.  Tournefort  replied  at  once:  "He  said  to  you 
plainly  that  your  Conscience  was  subverting  Law,  and 


THE    CELEBRATION.  391 

therein  he  implied  that  you  were  violating  your  most 
sacred  obligations  to  your  country.*' 

''  Are  3^ou  ready  to  sanction  every  wrong  done  in 
the  name  of  legality?  '*  demanded  Mr.  Firestone. 

**  I  shall  obey  the  Law,"  said  the  Virginian. 

Mr.  Tournefort  was  going  on  to  illustrate  this  posi- 
tion, and  to  enforce  it  by  some  apt  citations,  when  a 
loud  noise  was  heard  in  the  street,  a  mighty  clatter  of 
voices  arose  from  the  distance,  and  a  party  of  men 
passed  by  the  house  in  great  excitement  running 
toward  the  railroad  station.  Fire-arms  were  seen  in  the 
hands  of  several  persons,  and  the  shout  went  up :  — 

''  Come  on,  follow,  quick,  bring  your  guns." 

*'  What  is  the  trouble?" 

"  Cudjo  Bell  has  been  captured  by  slave-hunters, 
and  is  now  on  the  train  going  South." 

Nobody  inquired  further.  At  once  all  the  Fire- 
stones,  men  and  women,  rushed  out  of  the  house 
toward  the  station.  People  were  hurrying  from  every 
direction,  the  whole  town  was  on  fire  in  a  moment. 
It  seemed  to  be  a  powder  magazine,  to  which  the 
match  had  been  applied,  and  which  was  just  now  in 
the  flash  of  explosion. 

Charles  Tournefort  went  along,  by  a  kind  of  neces- 
sity ;  he  heard  in  the  mad  shouts  of  the  people  the  re- 
sponse to  those  last  words  of  his,  which  he  had  uttered 
to  Mr.  Firestone.  As  he  was  borne  forward  by  the 
increasing  multitude,  he  felt  inside  of  himself  a  mill- 
wheel  making  heavy  revolutions,  which  caused  his 
frame  to  quiver  in  the  shock.  With  the  external  excite- 
ment, his  internal  agitation  seemed  to  be  keeping  pace. 


392  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

It  has  already  been  stated  that  the  negro,  Cudjo 
Bell,  though  living  unmolested  in  Freebuig,  had  long 
been  known  to  be  a  runaway  slave.  It  seems  that  the 
United  States  Marshal  of  the  district,  having  secretly 
learned  of  the  negro's  whereabouts  and  habits,  and  hav- 
ing armed  himself  with  the  authority  of  the  law,  and  be- 
ing aided  by  his  sworn  assistants,  had  laid  a  trap  for 
the  unfortunate  African  on  the  fatal  evening  when  he 
returned  from  Miss  Winslow's  lesson,  overwhelmed 
with  her  curse.  The  officers  spirited  him  away  in  a 
wagon  under  cover  of  night,  and  hid  in  the  woods,  till 
they  could  hail  the  passing  train,  which,  they  knew, 
was  coming.  Tlie  secret  was  discovered  by  some 
passengers,  who  told  it  with  circumspection  to  a  few 
citizens,  when  the  train  came  into  Freeburg.  But 
not  a  long  time  elapsed,  before  the  town  was  apprised 
of  the  facts.  The  captive  was  barricaded  in  a  car, 
over  which  armed  men  stood  guard. 

The  crowd  was  becoming  larger  every  moment,  they 
shouted  and  threatened  the  officers.  Undoubtedly  it 
ran  against  the  grain  to  see  a  human  being,  known  to 
every  person  of  the  community,  hurried  off  to  slavery. 
Men  of  both  political  parties  were  melted  into  a  com- 
mon sentiment  of  humanity  ;  all  declared  that  he  must 
be  released  ;  they  said  he  had  been  kidnaped.  This 
was  denied  by  the  officers,  who  showed  their  papers ; 
these  were  examined  by  Judge.  AUworthy,  who  was  on 
the  spot  early,  and  who  pronounced  them  to  be  legal 
and  in  due  form.  The  new  Judge,  Harvey  Conington, 
was  also  present,  and  declared  that  he  would  set  the 
man  free  by  Habeas  Corpus^  if  produced  in  his  court. 
But  Judge  AUworthy  answered :     * '  You  would  violate 


THE    CELEBRATION.  393 

the  Constitution  of  the  United  States."  Mr.  Coning- 
ton  at  such  a  prospect  kept  silent ;  he  was  glad  in  his 
heart  that  the  case  was  not  before  him  for  decision. 
The  old  Judge  counseled  forbearance,  though  he  felt 
in  himself  more  strongly  than  ever  before  the  counter- 
current  to  such  advice  ;  he  saw  one  whom  he  deemed 
a  member  of  his  own  household  fast  in  the  clutches 
of  enemies.  How  gladly  would  he  have  found  some 
means  of  release!  He  summoned  his  strength  and 
said  that  the  law  must  have  its  course,  but  he  said  it 
with  faltering  lips  and  in  strong  emotion. 

The  response  to  the  advice  of  the  old  Judge  was 
given  in  angry  shouts.  The  multitude,  growing  in 
numbers  and  violence,  proposed  to  release  the  cap- 
tive, law  or  no  law.  Mr.  Firestone,  senior,  was  one 
of  the  most  urgent,  but  in  reality  nobody  in  the  crowd 
seemed  to  object.  Miss  Winslow  was  also  present; 
she  declared  that  no  human  being  should  be  dragged 
to  slavery  from  Freeburg.  The  officers  said  nothing 
to  the  threats  and  abuse  of  the  people,  but  they  looked 
determined  ;  they  did  not  draw  their  fire-arms,  but  let 
them  be  seen. 

Charles  Tournefort  was  roused  at  the  spectacle  ;  he 
felt  the  pulse  of  the  community  ;  he  could  not  forbear 
sympathy.  He  pushed  through  the  crowd  till  he  was 
close  to  the  car ;  he  thought  he  saw  a  face  which  he 
knew  among  the  officers.  He  addressed  the  man  in  a 
low  tone :  — 

*'Are  you  not  from  Virginia?  " 

**Yes,"  said  the  man  in  a  whisper,  "but  how  do 
you  know?" 

"  I  have  seen  you  before.  " 


394  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

*' Where ?'* 

"On  the  plantation  of  my  friend,  Col.  Forsythe, 
near  Richmond." 

*' Indeed!  Then  I  judge  you  are  the  man  who 
wrote  him  the  letter  which  brought  about  this  arrest." 

The  mill-wheel  in  Charles  Tournefort's  bosom  made 
rapid  revolutions.     He  asked:  — 

*'How  comes  it  that  you  are  here?  " 

"I  was  sent  to  identify  the  negro  and  to  get  the 
papers.     Then  I  was  sworn  in  as  deputy." 

**  How  do  you  know  about  what  I  wrote?  " 

The  man  reached  to  his  pocket,  drew  from  it  a  letter 
and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Tournefort,  who  saw  his  own 
handwriting,  and  read  afresh  the  information  which 
he  had  given  concerning  the  runaway.  An  agony 
seized  him,  a  shudder  ran  through  his  body.  He 
begged  urgently :  — 

"Can  I  not  see  the  negro? " 

"  It  is  now  impossible." 

"  I  shall  take  all  the  consequences." 

* '  The  consequences  we  intend  to  keep  for  ourselves. ' ' 

"I  am  willing  to  buy  him;  I  agree  to  pay  Col. 
Forsythe,  whom  I  know  well,  the  full  value  of  the 
slave." 

"  It  cannot  be  done." 

"Why?" 

"  These  people  must  be  shown  that  the  Law  is  to  be 
executed." 

At  this  point  the  Marshal  came  up,  Mr.  Tournefort 
made  an  appeal  to  him.  He  replied:  "  It  cannot  be 
done  ;  the  Law  must  take  its  course." 

Meantime  the  crowd   was  preparing  to  drive  away 


THE    CELEBRATION.  395 

the  guard  by  a  shower  of  stones,  and  to  batter  down 
the  door  of  the  car.  The  bell  rung,  the  whistle  was 
heard  and  the  train  started ;  nobody  could  stop  the 
iron  horse  and  he  soon  bore  the  anxious  officers  and 
their  prey  beyond  the  reach  of  the  mob,  which  con- 
tinued to  increase  in  size  and  anger  after  its  purpose 
had  been  frustrated.  The  first  train  had  carried  a 
man  back  to  slavery  ;  such  a  deed  could  not  have  been 
done  but  for  this  new  railroad,  whose  completion  the 
people  had  just  celebrated.  Is  this  its  use?  It  be- 
came at  once  unpopular,  it  was  the  object  of  many 
bitter  curses.  As  plain  as  day  is  the  fact  that  the 
railroad  has  no  conscience. 

Law,  as  we  have  often  seen,  had  been  already  ques- 
tioned in  Freeburg ;  on  this  occasion  it  was  more  than 
questioned,  it  was  publicly  damned.  It  had  seemed  to 
conspire  with  the  railroad  in  doing  a  deep  wrong. 
Even  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  became  un- 
popular, and  the  old  Judge,  who  had  simply  voiced  it, 
sank  under  a  weight  of  maledictions ;  he  could  not 
have  been  elected  constable  in  that  community,  yet  he 
felt  for  the  miserable  captive  as  strongly  as  any  man 
in  the  country. 

But  what  were  the  feelings  of  Charles  Tournefort? 
He  had  now  himself  an  attack  of  Conscience  accom- 
panied by  certain  indefinite  twinges  of  remorse.  He 
had  felt  the  struggle  in  his  bosom  ;  he  had  seen  an 
entire  community  rise  in  mass  against  what  he  had 
always  deemed  not  only  legal  but  rightful.  But  he 
bore  on  his  person  a  document  which  had  been  the 
cause  of  this  excitement ;  were  it  known  what  he  had 
done,  he  would  probably  be  torn  to  pieces.     Yet  he 


396  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

had  intended  nothing  wrong  in  writing  that  letter. 
What  a  lesson !  The  mob  could  not  lacerate  his  body 
worse  than  his  thoughts  were  lacerating  his  soul.  To 
be  the  instrument  of  sending  a  poor  fellow  back  to 
slavery,  possibly  to  torture !  The  civil  war  had  begun 
in  him  as  in  many  others ;  it  would  not  be  long  ere 
the  whole  nation  would  be  writhing  in  the  same  pangs. 
Bleeding  internally,  he  came  to  Miss  Hope  Winslow. 
She  had  an  unearthly  pallor  in  the  face,  violent 
twitches  ran  through  her  lips  into  her  cheeks ;  she, 
too,  seemed  in  mortal  agony.  She  began  to  have  her 
struggle,  when  she  saw  the  negro  fulfilling  her  curse 
to  the  letter.  That  mighty  power,  her  conscience, 
was  now  wielding  the  sword  of  remorse,  and  was 
slashing  her  soul  to  pieces.  The  life  of  renunciation, 
bravely  maintained  so  many  years,  appeared  to  have 
been  lost  in  a  moment.  The  two  wretched  beings 
looked  at  each  other,  but  said  not  a  word;  they 
mutually  saw  the  picture  and  withdrew. 

Mr.  Tournefort  soon  came  upon  his  relatives,  the 
Firestones,  in  a  little  group  ;  he  was  met  with  aversion. 
His  brother-in-law,  hot  with  excitement,  did  not  spare 
him ;  he  felt  himself  smitten  upon  his  very  wound, 
and  soon  slipped  away  from  them  in  silence.  Yet  they 
did  not  know  the  worst ;  they  were  aided  in  their  re- 
buke of  him  chiefly  by  his  own  self-reproach.  He 
went  to  the  inn,  obtained  a  room,  and  threw  himself 
upon  the  bed,  feeling  himself  to  be  innocent,  yet  a 
guilty  man. 

Among  those  most  noticeable  in  the  crowd  was  the 
stalwart  form  of  the  stranger.  As  he  stood  towering 
above  the  rest  of  the  multitude,  the  people  remembered 
the  warnings  that  he  gave  in  his  speech  concerning  the 


THE    CELEBRATION.  397 

railroad.  They  remembered  vaguely  that  they  had 
broken  him  off  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence  which  seemed 
to  bear  a  prophetic  admonition.  They  now  with  one 
voice  called  for  him  again,  as  if  he  was  the  man,  the 
only  man,  who  could  speak  the  missing  word.  He 
complied,  and  standing  upon  a  low  plank  said: 
"  Friends,  I  did  not  expect  to  be  called  upon  to  com- 
plete my  last  sentence  so  soon.  I  thought  I  would 
have  to  wait  years,  but  the  sun  has  not  yet  set  upon 
our  jubilee  ere  the  counter-stroke  has  come.  You  all 
feel  it,  you  curse  the  instrument.  But  do  j^ou  know 
who  is  wielding  it?  Be  patient,  the  railroad  goes  both 
ways,  if  it  runs  Southward,  it  also  runs  Northward, 
and  will  surely  bring  the  negro  back.*' 

The  speaker  here  stopped,  he  cast  his  eyes  toward 
a  train  just  then  rolling  into  the  station  in  a  direction 
opposite  to  the  last  one,  which  had  carried  off  the 
African.  The  people  all  with  one  impulse  turned  their 
faces  the  same  way,  and  looked  with  eagerness.  There 
was  an  instantaneous  feeling  of  relief,  there  was  hope, 
though  no  Cudjo  Bell  appeared.  The  word  of  the 
speaker  brought  a  balm,  it  gave  patience;  it  satisfied 
for  a  time  the  hunger  of  the  soul,  though  there  was  no 
doubt  that  the  soul  would  get  hungry  again.  All  seemed 
reconciled  once  more  to  the  iron  monster,  whose  power 
had  been  so  painfully  felt  on  its  first  visit,  but  which 
now  gave  far-reaching  promises  of  mighty  help.  A 
number  of  passengers  entered  the  train  going  North, 
and  were  borne  off  mid  loud  huzzahs.  Henry  Fire- 
stone gazed  at  that  train  with  a  radiant  face  till  it  had 
vanished  in  the  distance.  When  he  turned  around, 
the  people  had  left  the  station,  and  were  going  home; 
the  celebration  was  at  an  end. 


CHAPTER   TENTH. 


THE  END  WHICH  IS  THE  BEGIKmNG. 

I. 

Mid  all  this  tumult  of  celebration,  young  Henry 
Firestone  was  preparing  to  leave  for  college.  He  had 
one  point  of  interest  in  the  railroad ;  it  was  to  carry 
him  northward  to  his  new  life.  His  mind  was  filled 
with  visions  of  the  unbounded  horizon  which  at  pres- 
ent rose  before  him.  Thus  he  began  to  soliloquize  to 
himself:  "  Now  I  am  to  free  myself  of  the  trammels 
of  ignorance.  I  feel  as  if  I  could  rise  out  of  the 
hardest  limits  of  nature  and  assert  my  own  supremacy. 
Knowledge,  whose  boundary  line  is  infinity,  now  lies 
before  me  in  its  ever-broadening  expanse.  Enter, 
take  possession ;  move  onward  and  still  again  take 
possession,  and  so  keep  doing.  It  is  ail  mine,  if  I  can 
seize  it,  and  seize  it  I  shall.  This  narrow  village  life 
is  to  be  expanded  into  the  whole  world,  into  the  whole 
universe.  My  hope  is  to  be  fulfilled,  I  shall  no  longer 
be  a  dreamer  of  impossible  things." 

Yet  he  felt  now  and  then  the  tide  moving  in  a  con- 
trary way.  He  had  moments  of  sad  retrospection,  in 
which  he  wistfully  looked  at  what  he  was  leaving  be- 
hind. Still  he  would  cry  out:  "  But  I  must  go,  the 
time  has  come,  I  must  seize  opportunity  when  golden, 
(398) 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        399 

else  it  will  turn  to  dross  and  weigh  me  down.  I  know 
I  have  to  quit  much  that  has  been  of  value  to  me ;  I 
shall  have  to  pay  for  the  gain  with  some  loss.  This 
life  in  Freeburg  has  had  its  great  reward,  but  I  must 
give  it  up." 

But  that  which  caused  him  more  distress  than  any- 
thing else,  was  the  continued  illness  of  little  Trolia. 
If  he  left  her  behind,  he  felt  that  he  would  hardly  see 
her  again.  Whenever  his  departure  was  spoken  of, 
she  would  flush  in  her  face,  as  if  witlj  an  inner  convul- 
sion, and  then  she  would  settle  down  into  a  quiet  resig- 
nation. She  now  seldom  left  her  bed  during  the  day, 
though  she  wished  always  to  be  dressed ;  she  would 
sometimes  rise  and  walk  out  into  the  midst  of  the  family 
with  a  smile  on  her  face,  to  greet  them  once  more  to- 
gether. But  she  soon  would  grow  so  weary  that  she 
had  to  go  back  to  her  bed.  These  sudden  visits  were 
like  those  of  a  spirit  which  flitted  into  the  room  with 
a  blessing,  and  left  an  impression  sad  yet  consolatory. 
She  took  pleasure  in  giving  now  and  then  a  surprise  to 
the  famil}^  who  were  getting  used  to  her  absence  from 
table  and  hearth,  and  in  this  way  she  inspired  the 
feeling  that,  though  gone,  she  would  return. 

Henry  would  often  go  to  her  bedside  to  see  her ; 
there  ife  would  talk  and  play  with  her  as  of  old.  She 
had  her  chief  delii]jht  in  humminsf  low  snatches  of  mel- 
ody  with  lines  of  her  own  ;  her  whole  being  appeared 
to  be  passing  into  music,  which  gathered  round  a  few 
words  of  some  song.  She  had  apparently  given  up 
terrestrial  relations,  yet  she  at  times  seized  upon  them 
eagerly  and  transformed  them  into  images  of  what  she 
fancied  lay  beyond.     She  in  certain  moments  longed 


400  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

for  death,  and  had  come  to  regard  this  grisly  King  of 
Terrors  as  the  great  Releaser.  Yet  she  clung  to  her 
earthly  emblems  with  strong  affection,  and  declared 
that  slie  was  going  to  carry  them  with  her  beyond,  till 
the  dream  was  over.  These  thoughts  she  would  turn,  in 
exalted  moments,  into  little  graceful  lines  and  verses, 
which  often  had  peculiar  intimations  of  what  she 
thought  would  be  her  future  life  and  occupation. 

She  insisted  upon  retaining  her  festal  attire,  as  she 
lay  on  her  little  c^uch.  Aunt  Polly  asked  to  help  her 
remove  her  white  dress ;  but  Trolla  said  she  would 
wear  this  at  her  own  festival,  which  was  shortly  com- 
ing. Somebody  offered  to  lift  up  the  hat  whose  brim 
seemed  to  be  in  the  way  of  her  head  as  it  rested  on  the 
l^illow,  but  she  would  not  permit  this  favorite  article 
to  be  taken  away.  The  wreath,  too,  she  declared  was 
her  own  company,  made  up  of  her  little  garden  guests, 
whom  she  would  not  allow  to  be  sent  off.  There  she 
lay  upon  the  bed  ;  her  celebration  was  going  to  be,  she 
said,  one  very  different  from  the  noisy  bustle  outside. 
The  repeated  requests  to  let  her  attire  be  removed  had 
caused  a  protest  which  gradually  transformed  itself 
into  a  song  ;  this  song  she  put  together  evidently  after 
a  verse  here  and  there  had  been  composed :  — 

0  let  rae  keep  my  folds  of  white, 
They  lie  so  light  upon  my  breast; 

1  go  down  to  the  House  of  Night, 

And  there  I  would  be  brightly  dressed. 

This  golden  shining  hat  I  wear 

"Will  sun  my  brow  beyond  Lhe  day; 
Sweet  flowers  o'er  mo  I  shall  hear  — 

Take  not  my  blooming  wreath  away. 


THE    EXD    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        401 

When  I  have  reached  my  silent  home, 
Their  little  tongues  will  !-peak,  and  tell 

How  once  on  earth  I  went  to  roam, 
And  talk  with  them  I  loved  so  well. 

Till  angels  come,  there  shall  I  dream ; 

The}'  will  not  ask  me  whence  I  came, 
They  see  m.e  all,  how  e'er  I  seem, 

They  know  me  well  without  my  name. 

There  shall  I  leave  my  dress,  my  flowers, 
Though  what  I  was,  I  still  shall  be ; 

O  save  me  from  my  life,  ye  Powers! 
And  let  me  once  again  go  free. 

This  was  her  last  song,  the  wish  with  which  it  ended 
was  soon  to  be  fulfilled.  Her  freedom,  for  such  she 
deemed  this  fulfillment,  was  shortl}^  to  be  a  reality. 
She  sang  with  a  heartfelt  intensity  which  went  home  to 
every  listener ;  one  could  feel  the  premonition  subtly 
lurking  in  the  notes  of  her  voice. 

Henry,  when  he  heard  her,  was  deeply  affected ;  he 
went  out  of  the  room  into  the  street,  and  wandered 
aimlessly;  somehow  little  Trolla  overwhelmed  him 
with  the  sadness  of  fate  and  the  mj'stery  of  existence. 
He  seemed  crushed  for  the  moment  not  only  in  his 
emotions,  but  in  his  will.  As  he  turned  a  corner,  he 
chanced  to  meet  the  old  singer.  Both  were  alone. 
Henry  cried  out:  — 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  Your  presence  gives 
me  relief  at  once ;  a  word  from  you  will  be  restora- 
tion." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  with  a  silent  glance 
which  seemed  to  pierce  to  the  heart  of  the  youth,  and 
there  take  a  moment's  survej^     Then  he  withdrew  his 

2C 


402  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

eyes  and  turned  their  look  forward.     In  this  attitude, 
with  much  decision  he  spoke  the  following  lines: — 

Here  is  the  oak,  and  thou  must  split  it 

With  the  maul  and  the  wedge; 
Here  is  the  iron  and  thou  must  hit  it 

With  the  anvil  and  sledge ; 
Here  is  the  plank  and  thou  must  fit  it 

With  the  tool  of  keen  edge. 

—  O  when  will  the  house  be  done,  be  done? 
My  home,  how  does  it  speed? 

—  Good  Friend,  thy  home  is  already  won; 
It  is  built  of  thy  deed. — 

The  youth  felt  the  fresh  life  return  and  throb  in 
his  bosom.  He  thought  again  of  his  new  plan  and  his 
grand  resolution.  He  drew  out  a  small  album  which 
he  carried  in  his  pocket,  and  handed  it  to  the  old  man 
saying:  "I  expect  soon  to  go  away  to  college;  I 
would  like  to  take  with  me  a  few  chosen  words  from  a 
person  who  has  so  deeply  influenced  me  in  various 
ways.  There  is  something  about  you  which  I  would 
like  to  carry  along  with  me  in  a  permanent  shape. 
Can  you  not  put  it  down  in  writing  for  me?  " 

The  old  man  replied:  ''I  am  not  in  the  habit  of 
putting  into  writing  what  I  sing,  or  even  what  I  utter. 
I  love  to  plant  my  seeds  directly  into  the  soil,  or  into 
the  soul,  as  the  case  may  be.  There  is  something  in 
the  moment  which  cannot  be  transferred  to  writing ;  I 
should  sa}'',  the  very  aroma  of  the  expression  is  lost, 
when  it  is  taken  out  of  the  circumstance  which  begot 
it.'' 


THE   END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        403 

Henry  said  in  response:  "  I  can  always  remember 
the  circumstance  better  than  the  word,  which,  if  it  be 
the  poet's  word,  has  in  it  something  more  than  the 
matter  which  it  merely  tells.  There  ought  to  be,  as  I 
have  heard  you  say,  an  element  everlasting  in  the 
fleeting  moment.  Fix  that  for  me  now  in  a  written 
word. ' ' 

**  What  subject  do  you  wish  me  to  take?  '* 

'^  Give  me  any  verse  3'ou  choose.  I  shall  look  at  it 
often  upon  this  page  and  remember  you." 

The  old  man  was  evidently  racking  his  brains  to  find 
a  few  lines  which  he  might  deem  appropriate.  But  he 
failed,  he  even  looked  miserable  in  his  failure.  He 
who  was  usually  so  full  and  so  spontaneous  when  the 
occasion  spoke,  could  not  make  a  line  to  order.  At 
last  he  drew  his  instrument  from  its  bag  and  picked  it 
a  little,  then  he  asked  : — 

"Are  you  going  forth  to  witness  a  new  life?  " 

"  It  will  be  new  to  me,  I  suppose,"  said  Henry. 
After  a  few  moments  of  thought,  the  old  man  spoke : 
"  You  will  yourself  have  to  write  out  what  I  say  to 
you.  If  I  should  take  that  pen  in  hand,  it  would 
weigh  me  down  like  lead,  it  would  crush  every  idea 
out  of  my  brain.  Even  in  your  fingers,  I  feel  it  is  too 
heavy  for  me." 

Again  there  was  silence.  He  still  continued  to  pick 
the  strings,  and  tune  them,  but  nothing  would  flow 
to  music.  Finally  he  put  up  his  instrument,  and 
looked  down  on  the  earth  in  reflection.  Soon  he 
began  to  speak ;  he  raised  his  forefinger  and  ut- 
tered the  following  verse  in  a  series  of  rapid,  broken 


404  THE    FREEBUKGERS. 

jets   of   utterance,    now  pointing    inwards,   now  out- 
wards:— 

Inner  freedom,  outer  dependence; 

Mind  untrammeled,  the  world's  hindrance ; 

Man's  free-will,  God's  providence; 

The  flight  of  soul,  the  fall  of  sense; 

The  oneness  of  one,  the  twoness  of  two, 

Oldest  of  old  and  newest  of  new, 

Thou  art  the  riddle  and  thou  must  guess  it, 

All  of  thy  life  is  just  to  express  it. 

Henry  Iiad  written  tiie  words  and  wss  putting  up  liis 
book  wlien  the  old  man  asked  to  see  them.  He  read 
them  over,  and  handed  back  tlie  album  with  a  look  of 
disgust. 

"Are  they  not  correct?  "  asked  the  youth. 

"  Yes  and  no,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  How  is  that?    You  are  now  the  riddle." 

''I  spoke  those  words,  I  suppose,"  added  the  old 
man,  "  but  I  never  can  read  my  own  lines  without  feel- 
ing that  the  letter  killeth.  My  own  poetry  would  slay 
me  if  I  had  to  read  it.  I  wonder  it  does  not  kill  other 
people." 

Henry  took  the  album  and  began  to  read  the  verse 
aloud  with  care. 

"  O  stop,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  asked  the  youth. 

*'  You  are  crucifying  on  my  own  cross." 

But  Henry  completed  the  lines,  and  then  said : — 

"  I  am  not  certain  that  I  fully  understand  them." 

"  Understand  them !  Nor  do  I,"  cried  the  old  man. 
"  I  have  been  trying  all  my  life  to  understand  them." 

*'  What  then  can  I  do?  "  asked  Henry. 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        405 

*'  If  you  fully  understood  them,  you  would  not  need 
them,  you  could  quietly  throw  them  away.  In  fact, 
you  would  not  need  to  go  to  college  ;  I  think  you  would 
hardly  need  to  live  your  life." 

The  youth  was  puzzled  at  the  old  man's  manner  and 
language.  He  knew  not  what  to  say.  He  had  obtained 
the  piize ;  but  what  its  value  was  he  could  not  then 
tell.  He  read  it  again  to  himself,  and  the  old  man  went 
on  to  make  an  observation  r^ 

*'  You  are  in  the  beginning  of  your  intellectual  life, 
you  can  hardly  yet  understand  the  middle  of  it,  much 
less  the  end.  Get  rid  of  that  subtle  egotism  which 
thinks  that  all  things  are  clear  at  the  first  glance. 
Speech  is  not  necessarily  obscure,  because  somebody 
does  not  understand  it.  Take  now  the  verse,  you  will 
in  time  learn  its  meaning ;  fragments  will  come  to  you 
by  living,  as  they  have  to  me.'* 

The  youth  said:  "I  can  wait.  But  can  you  not 
give  me  a  little  scrawl  of  your  writing?  " 

*'Yes,"  said  the- old  man  with  readiness,  "now  I 
can.  A  moment  ago  I  was  unable  to  write  a  verse,  but 
my  mood  has  changed  in  the  intervening  tick  of  time. 
The  reason  is,  the  occasion  has  whispered  something 
to  me.  You  are  going  to  college,  you  say;  do  you 
know  the  intellectual  danger  which  haunts  such  places? 
The  youth  comes  to  know  before  he  is  wise,  and  sets 
up  within  himself  the  Last  Judgment  for  the  whole 
Universe.  But  knowledge  is  only  a  part  of  that  of 
which  wisdom  is  the  whole.  Give  me  the  pen ;  now  I 
can  write  ;  now  I  must  write." 

Henry  filled  the  pen  with  ink  from  a  small  bottle 
which  he  took  from  his  pocket.     The  old  man  put  the 


406  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

album  against  a  fence  board,  seized  the  pen  with  a 
kind  of  spasmodic  jerk,  and  wrote  with  many  a  splash 
and  dash,  and  with  such  speed  that  one  would  think 
that  a  demon  was  driving  his  arm.  In  a  moment 
he  had  finished ;  he  dropped  the  album  into  the 
youth's  hand,  and  without  saying  a  word  he  hurried 
away. 

Henry  took  the  book  and  tried  to  read  the  inscrip- 
tion. He  puzzled  over  it,  spelled  it  out  here  and  there, 
and  corrected  it ;  often  he  had  to  correct  his  own  cor- 
rection. He  looked  around,  the  old  man  was  out  of 
sight,  and  he  was  left  to  himself  in  his  labor.  He 
slowly  walked  down  the  street  trying  to  decipher  the 
strange  letters  ;  it  was  a  riddle  in  chirograph}^,  if  not 
in  meaning.  Not  till  after  he  had  been  some  time  at 
college,  was  he  able  to  unravel  the  complicated  turns 
of  the  handwriting.  This  was  the  verse  which  he  suc- 
ceeded at  last  in  spelling  out  of  chaos :  — 

Tell  me,  0  Wisdom,  thou  God, 
"What  is  thy  hardest  command?  — 

Never  to  judge  or  condemn 
What  you  do  not  understand. 


II. 


There  was  another  man  in  town  whom  Henry  was 
eager  to  see  and  to  speak  with  before  his  departure. 
It  was  the  pedestrian,  a  person  who,  as  well  as  the  old 
singer,  had  woven  a  new  thread  into  his  existence. 
The  strange  speech  of  this  man,  as  well  as  his  words 
to  the  mob  afterwards  had  been  the  culmination  of 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        407 

his  power ;  the  whole  town  could  only  talk  of  him, 
and  of  the  thwarted  attempt  to  rescue  Cudjo  Bell. 
But  the  pedestrian  too  had  gone.  The  influence 
which  seemed  to  be  driving  everybody  out  of  Free- 
burg  at  this  time,  had  seized  him  also  and  had  sent 
him  off. 

Henry  went  to  the  inn,  and  on  inquiring  after  him, 
learned  that  he  had  set  out  alone  very  early  in  the 
morning,  nobody  knew  whither  or  by  what  road.  He 
left  no  means  behind  him  for  finding  out  his  direction. 
In  some  surprise  and  anxict}-,  the  youth  asked  after 
the  book  which  the  man  had  borrowed,  but  the 
innkeeper  could  give  no  information  about  it.  The 
two  went  to  the  room  which  he  had  occupied,  in  order 
to  make  a  search.  There  they  beheld  a  table  strewn 
with  smoking  tobacco,  and  the  fragments  of  a  cob- 
pipe  ;  matches  with  burnt  ends  and  paper  cinders  lay 
around  in  abundance.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  litter, 
the  book  was  found  in  bad  condition.  Its  leather 
cover  was  broken,  its  leaves  were  turned  inward  and 
battered  at  the  edges,  and  still  it  had  not  been  read. 
It  may  be  fairly  inferred  from  its  appearance  that 
these  few  days  in  the  hands  of  the  stranger  had  left 
deeper  and  more  lasting  traces  on  the  book  than  two 
centuries  in  the  Firestone  family,  with  all  the^floods, 
fires,  and  migrations  it  had  passed  through. 

But  the  real  vexation  came  when  Henry  found  that 
the  manuscript  in  front  of  the  book  had  been  removed. 
This  is  what  had  especially  drawn  the  attention  of  the 
stranger,  and  which  had,  through  his  interpretation, 
obtained  great  value  in  Henry's  eyes.  What  could 
such  conduct  mean?     In  place  of  the   much-desired 


408  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

sheets   lay  a   note,    which    contained    the    following 
words  scratched  in  pencil :  — 

My  Dear  Youth :  I  find  this  manuscript  really  belongs 
at  present  to  me.  I  have  read  it  through  carefull}' 
and  need  it  for  certain  purposes.  As  it  is  mine,  I  have 
taken  it  without  further  ceremony  ;  I  alone  of  all  men 
on  this  earth  at  this  moment  can  read  and  understand 
it.  Yet  you  too  have  a  right  in  the  document  —  a 
right  which  I  now  acknowledge,  and  will  hereafter 
make  doubly  valid  to  you.  Have  faith  ;  it  will  come 
back  in  due  season,  probably  just  at  the  moment  when 
you  are  ready  to  receive  it.  The  world  takes  care  of 
such  things,  and  gives  them  to  the  right  person  at  the 
right  time.  It  has  been  preserved  so  long  for  me,  and 
has  reached  me  in  the  most  marvelous  way ;  it  will  be 
kept  for  you  too.  Doubt  not.  Throw  open  the  win- 
dows and  look  in  all  directions.     Farewell." 

The  whole  transaction  made  a  very  unpleasant  im- 
pression upon  young  Henry  Firestone,  who  felt  that  he 
had  been  deprived  of  the  most  important  part  of  his 
ancestral  heritage.  The  man,  with  all  his  intellectual 
acuteness,  failed  to  make  one  very  clear  and  important 
distinction :  the  distinction  between  meum  and  tuum. 
At  least  he  had  so  failed  in  the  present  case.  Yet 
Henry  felt  the  fascination  of  the  man,  felt  it  even 
now ;  that  was  a  person  who  could  charm  in  his  ab- 
sence and  through  all  dislike.  The  youth  found  him- 
self unconsciously  defending  the  culprit  against  his 
own  charges. 

*' Perhaps,"  reflected  Henry,  *' he  had  a  right  to 
those  papers  after  all.     He  may  have  found  in  them 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.      .409 

some  ancient  claim,  in  advance  of  ours.  Wlio  can 
tell?     Let  us  wait  and  see." 

The  same  day  Henry  received  the  following  letter 
by  mail  from  the  stranger,  who  seemed  more  familiar 
and  open  in  this  writing  than  he  had  ever  been  in  his 
personal  intercourse :  — 

"I  shall  see  thee  again  under  changed  circum- 
stances, my  dear  young  friend,  and  I  shall  now  con- 
fide the  fact  to  thee  that  I  am  making  preparations  for 
another  stay  with  thee.  Not  without  purpose  have  I 
wandered  into  Freeburg,  though  I  had  no  purpose. 
That  visit  to  thy  house  was  a  weighty  event  in  my  life  ; 
not  only  did  it  bring  me  to  the  knowledge  of  the  in- 
valuable manuscript  which  I  still  carry  with  me,  but 
it  made  me  aware  of  my  own  insufficiency.  Thou 
hast  driven  me  upon  my  own  weakness  with  far  greater 
power  than  thou  couldst  suspect  at  the  time  ;  thou 
didst  make  me  feel  that  I  too  must  set  about  removing 
my  self-satisfied  boundaries.  O,  j^outh,  who  hast  the 
gift  of  making  others  transcend  their  narrow  land- 
marks, who  art  thyself  one  who  is  always  rising  above 
thyself,  and  causing  others  to  do  the  same,  good-bye 
for  to-day  ;  I  shall  see  thee  again." 

And  still  no  name  appended!  Henry,  in  his  per- 
plexity, knew  not  what  to  make  of  this  letter.  It 
seemed  friendly,  yes,  confidential,  but  was  there  not 
something  under  this  appearance?  He  asked  himself 
with  proper  modesty:  "•  Can  I  mean  anything  to  such 
a  man,  who  means  so  much  to  me?  " 

He  was  aware  that  the  stranger  was  a  subtle  humor- 
ist.    Was  not  this  letter  a  phase  of  his  sportive  mood, 


4lO  THE    FREEBURGERg. 

which  often  appeared  quite  unfathomable?  Was  it 
not  a  part  of  his  grotesque  demeanor,  which  had  re- 
peatedly turned  him  into'a  clown?  Is  the  thing  in 
jest  or  in  earnest?  The  youth  could  not  tell,  nobody 
could  tell.  The  thought  would  peep  through  all 
serious  argument  that  the  man  was  playing  one  of  his 
Olympian  jokes,  and  that  he  had  assumed  the  mask  of 
Providence  for  some  of  his  own  inscrutable  ends. 
Yet  beneath  all  these  questionings  lay  Henry  Fire- 
stone's faith  that  some  day  the  mask  would  suddenly 
be  removed,  and  the  true  fact  of  the  man  be  revealed. 

III. 

In  stirring  about  the  inn,  Henry  came  upon  his 
uncle,  Mr.  Charles  Tournefort,  who  showed  that  he 
was  making  preparations  to  leave  Free  burg. 

"Are  you  going,  uncle?"  asked  the  youth  with 
some  surprise. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  have  had  my  visit  out  for  this 
time,"  replied  the  uncle. 

Mr.  Tournefort  was  evidently  not  in  his  light-hearted 
mood.  Could  a  glance  have  been  thrown  into  his 
mind,  one  would  have  seen  a  worried  man.  Certain 
ideas  were  troubling  him,  even  having  a  little  battle 
inside  his  usually  serene  brain.  But,  chiefly,  he  had 
a  feeling,  hitherto  unknown,  for  the  negro,  Cudjo 
Bell.  That  unconscious  act  of  his  had  shown  conse- 
quences which  harried  him  and  hunted  him  like  blood- 
hounds. 

Henry  asked:  "Are  you  not  coming  to  see  us  before 
you  leave?" 


I'HE    END   WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        411 

*' Certainly,"  said  he,  with  his  Virginia  courtesy 
waking  up.  "  I  shall  go  with  you  now,  if  you  are 
rea(l3^" 

Both  started  together  for  the  house  of  the  Fire- 
stones.  There  was  a  formal  interview  and  leave-tak- 
ing ;  but  something  was  the  matter.  Some  obstacle 
interposed  itself ;  an  invisible  but  heavy  weight 
clogged  the  heartiness  of  both  sides.  Everybody  was 
glad  to  escape  from  the  strain  as  soon  as  possible. 
Mr.  Tournefort,  as  he  withdrew,  was  not  wanting  in 
ceremonious  politeness.  Henry  accompanied  him 
back  to  the  inn. 

"  You  are  going  off  to  college,  are  you?  "  asked  the 
uncle. 

"  Very  soon,"  said  Henry. 

*'  Where  is  the  place?" 

"It  is  called  Ho  ward  town." 

*'  I  have  heard  of  that  seat  of  learning  and  its  curi- 
ious  ideas,"  said  the  uncle.  "  Its  fame  has  penetrated 
to  Virginia  and  has  there  received  some  attention  which 
cannot  be  called  very  flattering." 

'*  Indeed  !"  exclaimed  the  youth. 

"I  think  I  shall  visit  you  there,"  continued  Mr. 
Tournefort. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Henry. 

Mr.  Tournefort  could  not  help  giving  a  little  turn 
to  the  talk  and  inquiring  after  Miss  Winslow.  Henry 
answered :   "  She  too  is  going  to  leave  Freeburg." 

Mr.  Tournefort  ejaculated:  '*  Is  it  possible!  What 
will  the  town  be  without  her!  But  where  is  she 
going?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  was  the  response. 


412  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

Mr.  Tournefort  gazed  a  moment  at  the  youth,  but 
suppressed  all  further  inquiries.  He  seemed  to  be 
struck  dumb  by  that  piece  of  news.  The  two  liad 
arrived  at  the  ian,  and  they  bade  each  other  farewell 
with  hearty  expressions  of  good-will. 

The  internal  conflict  continued  to  rage  in  the  breast 
of  Mr.  Tournefort.  It  was  a  very  composite  battle. 
His  emotions  had  been  roused ;  they  surged  up  into 
his  head,  which  was  generally  in  a  philosophic  cahn, 
and  they  caused  a  great  perturbation  there.  The  re- 
sult, however,  was  that  a  permanent  precipitate  of 
thought  was  left  behind.  Feeling  is  likely  to  be 
transitory,  but  it  often  leaves  a  principle  which  is 
lasting. 

Amid  all  his  fluctuating  emotions,  Mr.  Tournefort 
felt  strongly  in  his  own  bosom  the  same  struggle  which 
he  had  before  noticed  in  the  community.  He  had 
been  long  enough  in  Freeburg  to  carry  its  conflict 
away  with  himself.  Moreover,  he  had  had  an  ex- 
perience which  stirred  him  to  the  depths  in  the  case 
of  Cudjo  Bell. 

When  the  individual  conscience  is  fully  aroused, 
there  is  going  to  be  a  fight,  often  two  fights  —  an  inner, 
in  which  the  man  settles  the  question  with  himself, 
and  an  outer,  in  which  he  settles  it  with  the  world. 
The  inner  conflict  was  now  in  progress  throughout  all 
the  so-called  North- Western  territory,  which  was  the 
real  battle  ground  of  the  war  of  principle  ;  this  war 
was  antecedent  to  tbe  grand  clash  of  arms.  In  every 
hamlet  there  was  discussion,  which  resulted  in  a  stir- 
ring up  of  the  soul  and  a  settling  down  into  conviction. 
That  territory,  devoted  to  freedom  by  Thomas  Jeffer- 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        413 

son,  a  Virginian,  was  at  present  the-  great  object  of 
spiritual  possession  for  the  two  contending  principles. 
It  became  the  drilling-ground,  in  which  the  hosts 
were  prepared  by  the  World-Spirit  for  the  actual 
battle.  Mr.  Tournefort  obtained  an  inkling  of  what 
was  going  on  by  what  he  saw  in  Freeburg.  He  de- 
sired to  extend  his  view,  and  to  behold  these  mighty 
forces  in  their  full  sweep.  He  determined  to  continue 
his  journey  still  further  ^yestward  and  North-West- 
ward. 

It  was  a  new  experience  for  the  Virginian.  The 
South  would  not  entertain  this  inner  struggle.  The 
good  Southerner,  if  he  had  it,  was  expected  to  smother 
it,  while  the  State  in  the  South  repressed  its  open  mani- 
festation. Public  opinion  would  not  wait  in  this  case 
for  the  tardy  process  of  justice,  but  ran  in  advance 
with  violence.  Yet  it  was  often  felt  that  this  conflict, 
even  in  the  South,  if  not  allowed  to  settle  itself  by 
inner  conviction,  would  have  to  be  settled  by  outer  war. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  the  Puritan  and  the  Cavalier 
were  again  getting  ready  to  cross  swords  in  a  new 
world,  and  in  a  new  cause.  Yet  it  was  the  old  cause 
too.  Their  descendants  in  a  straight  line  were  here, 
and  their  ideas  also,  though  these  ideas  had  taken  on 
a  fresh  disguise  in  the  grand  masquerade  of  Time. 

There  had  been  a  second  great  migration  of  men  and 
ideas  from  the  sea-coast,  a  second  sifting  of  a  much 
sifted  people.  In  the  West,  in  the  vast  Mississippi 
Valley,  the  conflicting  elements  had  met,  and  the  ques- 
tion of  all  questions  at  that  moment  was :  Which  idea 
shall  possess  the  new  Eden?  Upon  its  possession  in- 
deed hung  the  future.     Mr.  Charles  Tournefort  began 


414  THE    FREEBUKGERS. 

to  see  very  distinctly  the  meaning  of  the  pohtical  strug- 
gle, and  the  source  of  its  intensity. 

To  b^sure,  there  were  many  differences,  many  pro- 
tests, many  counter-currents  in  the  great  movement 
onwards.  The  agricultural,  phlegmatic  Pennsylvania 
German  did  not  wish  his  regular  peaceful  life  to  be 
disturbed ;  he  sought  some  balance  between  the  op- 
posing ideas,  and  resisted  innovation ;  but  the  time 
came  when  he  had  to  take  sides.  He  was  hard  to 
move,  but  when  he  did  move  he  threw  himself  into  the 
party  lines  of  the  Puritan,  though  he  was  in  many  re- 
spects the  opposite  in  sentiment  and  in  character. 

With  Parson  Pcabody,  most  of  whose  ancestors  had 
landed  on  Plymouth  Rock,  slavery  was  a  moral  horror, 
and  the  struggle  was  a  Puritanic  fight  with  the  dragon. 
His  sentiment  was  very  strong  for  the  black  man  at  a 
distance.  Undoubtedly  the  parson  was  shocked  to  the 
last  degree  by  the  thought  that  any  human  being  should 
have  to  submit  his  conscience  to  a  master.  The  sum 
of  wickedness  was,  that  man's  very  selfhood  should  be 
handed  over  to  another.  Such  a  view,  however,  made 
no  impression  upon  Mr.  Charles  Tournefort,  for  it 
could  not  reach  a  person  who  was  so  firmly  intrenched 
in  the  forms  of  legality.  He  felt,  moreover,  from  his 
daily  contact  with  the  negro,  that  the  latter  was  happier 
and  better-off  in  slavery  than  in  freedom. 

But  Mr.  Tournefort  had  a  growing  conviction  that 
the  injury  of  slavery  to  the  white  race  and  to  the  re- 
public was  greater  than  the  injury  to  the  black  race. 
He  was  ready  to  see  from  his  own  experience,  that  no 
man  lording  it  even  mildly  over  a  human  soul,  is  fit  to 
be  a  citizen  cf  a  free  country.     The  most  eminent  Vir- 


THE    EXD    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        415 

ginians  of  former  times  held  the  same  opinion,  though 
they  were  slaveholders.  Not  the  moral,  not  the  sen- 
timental, but  the  national  view  was  naturally  upper- 
most with  him  and  with  all  these  men,  so  full  of  the 
institutional  spirit.  George  Washington  himself  had 
expressed  some  such  conviction. 

Mr.  Charles  Tournefort  started  on  his  journey. 
Freeburg  had  brought  home  to  him  his  most  obstinate 
limitation,  against  which  he  fretted,  and  which  drove 
him  still  further  into  the  new  land.  He  had  been  well 
shaken  up  during  his  visit ;  he  had  done  a  legal  deed, 
which  he  soon  tried  in  every  way  to  undo,  in  obedience 
to  an  inner  law  ;  he  had  heard  the  protest  in  the  com- 
munity, he  had  heard  it  in  himself.  But  his  effort  to 
cancel  his  own  action  was  fruitless,  the  consequence 
remained.  Forth  he  must  go  and  forth  he  has  gone ; 
there  is  no  doubt  that  he  will  find  much  to  free  him  of 
his  old  limits  in  the  spirit  of  the  broad  West. 

IV. 

As  Henry  was  sauntering  homewards  at  leisure,  he 
met  Miss  Winslow  on  the  street.  He  stopped,  but  she 
sseemed  inclined  not  to  tarry.  Her  greeting  was 
friendly,  but  there  was  a  cloud  of  trouble  in  her  face. 
She  spoke  to  the  youth:  ''I  hope  to  see  you  again 
before  you  go." 

She  was,  indeed,  in  a  state  of  tribulation,  which  her 
secretive  nature  could  not  altogether"  hide.  The  fact 
which  oppressed  her  was,  she  had  cursed  Cudjo  Bell, 
and,  as  if  in  immediate  fulfillment  of  her  imprecation, 
he  had  been  seized  and  hurried  off  to  the  South.     On 


416  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

that  fatal  night  she  had  heard  the  scuffle  ;  the  groan 
of  the  captive  still  sounded  through  her  ears.  It  was 
a  call  for  human  help,  but  she  cowardly  ran  on,  over- 
come with  terror.  She  could  not  forgive  herself,  she 
was  ready  to  turn  the  curse  upon  herself.  She  felt 
unworthy  of  life  ;  indeed  it  was  not  fit  to  have,  unless 
it  could  be  transformed. 

Nor  must  another  thought  of  hers  be  hidden  from 
anybody  who  wishes  to  know  the  workings  of  her  soul. 
It  was  a  thought  which  she  hardly  dared  speak  aloud 
to  herself,  but  which  came  up  before  her  as  she  met 
Henry  Firestone.  She  was  experiencing  the  same 
pang  which  wrought  such  terrible  torture  in  the  negro's 
breast  —  the  pang  of  disappointed  love.  She  looked 
back  and  saw  herself  in  poor  Cudjo ;  she  began  to 
feel  a  sympathy  and  a  remorse  more  intense  than  ever. 
It  is  true  that  the  African  had  been  unable  to  control 
his  passion,  and  to  renounce  an  impossible  affection. 
But  why  curse  him?  Nay,  by  cursing  him  had  she 
not  in  that  very  act  cursed  herself?  She  felt  that  she 
had  been  unequal  to  this  last  sudden  test  put  upon 
her ;  she  had  uttered  a  malediction  against  the  negro 
because  he  was  not  as  strong  as  she  was.  Therein, 
however,  lay  a  deeper  weakness  of  hers ;  she  had  lost 
her  charity  in  the  trial.  More  profoundl}'^  than  ever 
she  felt  that  her  whole  life  must  be  purified  by  a  new 
renunciation. 

In  such  a  mood  she  condemned  herself  for  the  little 
lurking  sentiment  which  she  had  felt  rising  in  her 
heart  for  Mr.  Tournefort,  a  slaveholder.  Some  how, 
too,  she  thought  of  the  first  time  she  saw  him  at  the 
Post-office,  then  she  remembered  the  letter  which  shQ 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        417 

noticed  him  depositing  there;  she  recalled  too  her 
faint  glimpse  of  its  address.  Was  he  the  cause  of 
Cudjo  Bell's  capture?  No,  she  was  herself  the  cause, 
she  had  cursed  him,  she  would  not  cast  the  blame 
uporj  anybody  else. 

Life  had  become  a  knot  which  she  could  no  longer 
disentangle  in  her  present  environment.  Already  she 
had  felt  her  work  to  be  finished  ;  now  she  was  smoth- 
ering to  death  in  the  little  world  she  had  built. 
"Yes,"  she  cried,  "  I  must  be  off.  Everything  op- 
presses me  here.  It  seems  as  if  I  cannot  stir  without 
being  rubbed  to  the  quick.  Freeburg,  no  longer  the 
wide  expanse  of  my  free  activity,  has  become  for  me 
a  prison.  Its  walls  threaten  to  fall  in  and  crush  me, 
unless  I  escape." 

Still  she  was  conscious  that  the  prison  was  largely 
inside  and  not  outside  of  herself.  "I  know,"  she 
said  to  her  own  argument,  "  that  people  often  think, 
by  changing  their  abode,  to  change  their  disposition. 
I  know  that  I  must  take  all  my  cares  and  struggles 
with  me.  But  the  advantage  is,  they  will  be  mine 
alone,  and  I  can  grapple  with  them  by  myself,  external 
chance  at  least  will  be  largely  banished  into  the  dis- 
tance ;  I  shall  not  run  the  danger  of  meeting  what  I 
shun  every  moment  on  the  street." 

She  had  now  arrived  at  the  school-house  where  she 
intended  to  gather  a  few  remaining  articles  and  pack 
them  up.  It  was  a  sad  task  to  bid  good-bye  to  the  build- 
ing which  she  had  herself  erected,  and  in  which  she  had 
presided  so  long.  That  structure  meant  much  ;  it  stood 
not  only  of  brick  and  mortar,  but  it  was  the  intellectual 
edifice  of  the  surrounding  country.     It  was  peculiarly 


418  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

her  own  habitation ;  now  she  was  to  quit  it  forever. 
The  very  walls  seemed  to  cry  out,  and  wail.  The  old 
clock,  the  we'll- worn  text-books,  the  desks  were 
melancholy  ;  she  went  and  sat  down  in  the  seat  which 
Henry  Firestone  had  occupied  several  years.  She 
picked  up  a  little  bit  of  his  writing  which  happened  to 
lie  there ;  it  was  a  copy  of  one  of  her  own  aphorisms : 
Throw  open  the  doors  and  look  out  upon  a  new  world 
every  da}'.  ^ 

Just  then  she  heard  the  notes  of  an  instrument  and 
the  voice  of  song  outside.  Those  soft  musical  tones 
came  to  her  like  a  promise ;  she  opened  the  door  and 
looked  forth.  She  beheld  the  old  singer  again  under 
the  Tall  Apple  Tree ;  she  listened  to  his  strain,  which 
told  of  a  time  of  tender  memories,  of  painful  separa- 
tions, yet  of  strong  self-mastery.  She  came  out  and 
stood  upon  the  veranda. 

The  old  man,  when  he  saw  her,  stopped  his  song,  and 
seemed  to  give  way  to  his  thoughts.  Miss  Winslow 
resolved  this  time  to  go  out  and  talk  with  him  ;  she 
unconsciously  grappled  for  the  golden  cord  which  ap- 
peared in  some  way  to  join  them  together.  She  had 
already  heard  from  Henry  many  eulogies  of  the  old 
man ;  she  had  felt  his  secret  power  of  attraction. 
She  went  up  to  him  and  turned  on  him  the  smile  of 
welcome.  She  was  melted ;  all  the  hardness  of  her 
features  and  her  stiff  manner  had  vanished  in  looks 
which  tenderness  softened  into  the  most  responsive 
glances. 

The  old  singer  rose  up  before  her  in  amazement,  he 
stood  and  stared  as  if  he  saw  an  apparition.  After  a 
moment,  that  figure  began  to  address  him ;  it  had  a 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.     .   419 

voice  long  unheard,  yet  it  was  different  from  the  old 
note  which  he  once  knew  so  well.  Familiar  tones 
mingled  with  strange  accents. 

She  first  spoke:  "Your  song  has  attracted  me 
hither.  I  seem  to  know  it,  yet  I  cannot  tell  when  it 
first  fell  upon  my  ear." 

The  sound  of  these  words  was  somehow  not  strange 
to  him  ;  they  had  an  intonation  which  he  thought  he 
had  heard  before,  but  he  knew  he  had  not.  After 
some  moments  of  wonder,  he  spoke :  "  When  you  talk, 
it  is  a  well-known  voice  that  I  hear,  yet  I  am  sure  I 
never  heard  you  speak  before." 

The  old  man  had  seen  her  several  times  at  the 
school-house,  he  had  noticed  her  with  surprise  at  the 
celebration.  To-day  he  had  been  drawn  to  the  Tall 
Apple  Tree  to  see  her  again,  as  she  once  appeared  to 
him  in  form,  gesture  and  apparel.  There  was  some 
bond  connecting  them,  he  felt  it  strongly  but  secretly 
compelling  him.  In  her  face  was  one  of  the  mj^s- 
teries  —  he  knew  not  what  —  perhaps  of  his  own  life. 
He  tried  his  song  upon  her ;  that  was  his  touchstone, 
and  she  always  responded.  In  their  talk  fragments  of 
each  other's  history  began  to  rise  to  the  surface. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  he,  "  why  did  you  come  so  often 
to  the  window  when  I  sang  here  not  long  ago?  " 

She  answered :  "I  was  carried  back  to  my  old  home, 
and  to  my  earliest  childhood,  when  I  must  have  heard 
that  voice.  I  might  almost  say  that  I  was  drawn  back- 
ward to  a  time  antecedent  to  birth.  I  felt  myself  go- 
ing into  a  primitive  condition  of  memory  and  of  the 
soul." 

He  responded  quickly:   "  I  had  a  similar  feeling  in 


420  THE    FREKBURGERS. 

regard  to  the  movements  of  your  arm  and  body.  Cer- 
tain tricks  of  the  voice  I  notice  now,  which  are  yours, 
yet  not  yours." 

The  two  were  indeed  coming  together.  She  asked 
him:  "Sing  again  that  last  verse."  She  was  not 
much  given  to  emotional  poetry,  but  this  had  touched 
her. 

He  sang  it,  saying,  "A  simple  ballad  of  human 
sorrow  and  hope." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "but  it  contains  touches  of  my 
life.'' 

"  Perhaps  of  all  life,"  he  repUed. 

"Does  it  of  yours?  " 

"Ah,  of  mine  too,  else  I  would  not  sing  it." 

She  even  began  to  hum  with  him  the  little  chorus 
which  speaks  of  a  voice  calling  the  Shepherd  from  over 
the  sea.  She  said  :  "It  has  been  a  long  time  since  I 
even  crooned  a  note  ;  you  have  again  charmed  it  from 
me.  Once  I  sang  much,  that  was  in  my  childhood ; 
but  sterner  things  have  stifled  my  music ;  my  spoken 
words  are  even  harsh,  I  think." 

The  old  man  replied  :  "  That  voice  of  yours  is  not 
discordant  to  me  now.  More  and  more  it  is  a  whisper 
from  beyond." 

Miss  Winslow  looked  at  the  old  singer,  whose  lips 
quivered  and  whose  voice  trembled.  She  felt  strongly 
his  secret  and  threw  in  a  word :  — 

"When  I  begin  to  sing,  a  new  destiny  is  over  me. 
You  have  broken,  good  father,  the  seal  of  these  lips. 
"What  further  is  hidden,  I  know  not." 

The  old  man  gazed  at  her  and  asked :  — 

"  Have  you  a  father?  " 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGIXNINd.        421 

"  Once  I  had,  but  I  know  not  where  he  is  now;  I 
never  expect  to  see  him  again." 

"  You  may  yet,"  he  replied. 

"I  hardly  dare  hope  so.  Long  since  the  blow  of 
fate  smote  him  and  drove  him  forth  to  wander;  he  has 
vanished  without  a  trace." 

The  old  man  looked  into  the  branches  of  the  Tall 
Apple  Tree  with  upturned  eyes,  and  said:  — 

"  Possibly  he  has  left  some  trace,  by  which  you  can 
seek  him." 

"It  would  seem  impossible." 

"  Be  firm  in  faith.     Have  you  a  mother?  " 

Miss  Winslow  in  her  tender  mood  was  not  wholly 
able  to  restrain  her  emotion. 

"I  have  one  memory-,  one  look  of  hers  with  me  — 
a  loving  face  bending  over  me,  then  closing  the  eyes 
forever. ' ' 

She  reached  her  hand  to  her  bosom,  and  drew  out  a 
httle  golden  heart  attached  by  a  chain.     She  said :  — 

"  This  is  hers,  this  is  from  her  neck,  this  little  keep- 
sake which  I  still  wear.     It  has  in  it  a  faded  picture." 

"My  daughter,"  cried  the  old  man,  "  we  have  met 
once  more."     They  were  soon  in  each  other's  arms. 

A  youth  sprang  over  the  fence  not  far  from  the  Tall 
Apple  Tree,  and  seemed  in  great  haste.  He  came 
from  the  direction  of  the  Firestone  dwelling ;  he  was 
talking  to  himself  and  sobbing.  He  was  so  occupied 
with  himself  that  he  did  not  notice  the  pair  till  he 
almost  stumbled  upon  them.  Miss  Winslow  rose,  she 
saw  before  her  Henry  Firestone.     She  asked :  — 

"  What  is  the  matter?" 

"Trolla  is  dying." 


422  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

"Tell  us  about  her,  Henry." 

"  She  was  in  her  usual  spirits  a  few  minutes  ago. 
She  heard  the  song  over  here,  she  longed  to  come,  she 
rose  and  then  fell  down  in  a  convulsion.  She  died  to 
the  song  of  the  Shepherd." 

Already  he  had  left,  saying:  "  I  must  run  for  the 
doctor."  He  disappeared  soon  behind  the  school 
house,  toward  the  residence  of  the  physician. 

The  news  fell  upon  both  with  horror ;  it  came  at  a 
moment  of  happiness,  it  seemed  to  smite  the  blow  of 
fate.  Miss  "Winslow,  since  the  day  of  reconciliation, 
had  felt  a  deepening  harmony  with  Trolla's  nature. 
The  old  man  had  become  strongly  attached  to  the  little 
singer,  he  regarded  her  with  a  kind  of  awe,  yet  with 
love.  She  was  an  embodiment  of  his  own  genius,  and 
would  respond  to  the  lightest  beat  of  his  wings ;  she 
could  enter,  as  none  other,  into  the  world  behind  and 
beyond  his  songs,  which  were  but  an  outer  drapery  of 
his  inner  being.     He  spoke :  — 

"O  my  daughter,  though  our  tie  be  so  close,  so 
new,  we  must  separate  again.  I  must  go  and  plant ; 
I  cannot  even  give  my  last  old  years  to  you  without 
the  fateful  counter-stroke.  1  feel  it  in  the  word  just 
spoken,  in  the  event  just  transpired;  I  read  it  in 
everything  around  me.  Only  by  activity  can  I  over- 
come the  world  that  crushes  me  within  and  without. 
In  this  village  I  have  been  held  by  your  dear  image, 
seen  the  first  day  on  this  spot ;  the  memory  would  not 
let  me  depart,  but  now  I  must  rally  and  go.  I  cannot 
rest  with  reminiscence,  till  I  be  done  with  doing." 

Miss  Winslow  replied:  "I  am  in  that  too  your 
child  ;  I  must  go  and  plant,  it  is  my  only  dower  from 


THE    END   WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        423 

you,  and  my  best.  My  hour  has  struck,  this  day  I 
was  about  to  leave.  On  all  sides  the  restraint  of  life 
is  closing  me  in  and  compelling  me  to  burst  its  chains. 
There  is  no  longer  any  freedom  in  Freeburg  for  me." 

*'It  is  fitting/'  said  the  father,  "that  we  wait  till 
to-morrow,  and  pay  the  last  rites  to  little  Trolla,  who 
was  more  than  a  stranger  here,  and  who  has  already 
traveled  further  than  we  into  the  Beyond.  Soon  it 
must  be  my  turn  to  follow  her  thither." 

The  daughter  replied:  "  I  shall  remain,  O  father, 
and  pass,  in  delightful  intercourse  with  you,  the  in- 
tervening hours.    After  their  lapse,  we  shall  depart." 

"It  is  well,"  said  the  old  man. 

Miss  Winslow  continued  :  "When  the  bell  ceases 
tolling  over  Trolla' s  grave,  I  shall  be  off  to  the  new 
life." 

The  two  arose  and  went  slowly  toward  the  house  of 
death.  They  walked  in  silence  through  the  garden 
and  the  yard,  over  which  the  departed  spirit  seemed 
still  to  hover.  They  found  a  small  gathering,  chiefly 
of  children,  around  the  door ;  Aunt  Polly  came  out 
and  gave  a  friendly  salutation  through  her  tears  ;  she 
said  that  the  little  sufferer  a  few  minutes  before  had 
breathed  her  last. 


The  obsequies  of  Trolla  were  held  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  Firestone,  in  the  midst  of  the  family  with  which 
she  had  passed  her  life.  The  garden  seemed  almost 
to  have  been  transferred  to  the  room  where  she  lay, 
her  coffin  was  hid  in  wreaths  of  flowers,  out  of  which 


424  THE   FREEBURGERS. 

still  peered  her  face  with  a  slight  smile,  yet  in  deep 
repose.  Her  hend  gently  rested  in  her  hat  of  golden 
straw,  round  which  was  twisted  a  fresh  garland.  She 
was  the  center  and  the  very  bloom  of  all  this  floral 
magnificence,  her  friends  of  the  garden  had  not  been 
forgotten  in  the  last  rites  of  one  who  almost  appeared 
their  human  representative. 

The  neighbors  assembled ;  there  was  much  talk  in 
low  tones  about  the  life  of  the  strange  child.  Everj^- 
body  had  some  story  to  tell  of  her  marvelous  actions ; 
there  were  many  conjectures  in  regard  to  her  origin, 
and  many  suppositions  as  to  the  cause  of  her  death. 
But  no  person  had  any  light  to  throw  upon  her  mani- 
fold mysteries,  she  had  gone  as  she  had  come  — 
a  streak  of  sunshine  diving  out  of  one  cloud  into 
another. 

The  young  clergyman,  who  had  felt  such  an  interest 
in  the  deceased  child,  had  been  selected  to  take  charge 
of  the  ceremonies.  He  came  forward,  and,  after  a 
short  rite,  began  to  speak:  "Of  all  the  souls  with 
which  it  has  been  my  lot  to  hold  communion,  the  soul 
of  this  departed  one  was  most  deeply  wedded  to  the 
Unknown.  Her  life  dropped  into  our  village  out  of 
the  Unknown  ;  now  she  has  returned  to  the  Unknown. 
This  element  entered  into  her  character,  into  all  her 
words  and  deeds  ;  she  wag  a  m3^stery  to  others  and  to 
herself.  The  common  boundaries  of  life's  horizon 
were  never  settled  in  her  case ;  the  unfolding  of  her 
spirit  was  its  closing ;  one  could  never  exactly  tell 
whether  she  was  a  grown  person  or  a  child." 

At  this  moment  a  band  of  children,  dressed  in  white 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNIXG.        425 

and  bearing  in  their  hands  offerings  of  immortelles, 
entered  the  room  and  formed  a  circle  round  the  flowery 
bank,  in  which  the  fair  countenance  slept  embosomed. 
After  them  came  the  old  singer,  his  hat  was  removed, 
the  white  hair  and  beard  fell  over  his  shoulders  and 
his  breast ;  he  bore  his  instrument  under  his  arm,  and 
his  face  was  already  a  song  of  deep  sympathy  and 
veneration.  Behind  him  stood  Miss  Hope  Winslow, 
the  daughter ;  everybody  marked  her  position  and 
look;  she  seemed  the  same  that  she  was  before,  yet 
somehow  changed ;  she  showed  an  outer  resemblance 
to  the  old  singer,  but  still  more,  an  inner  harmony 
with  his  feeling  and  character.  Soon  she  moved 
from  her  place  and  stepped  forward ;  she  bent  over 
the  lifeless  form,  and  put  her  warm  lips  to  the  chill 
face. 

When  Miss  Winslow  had  risen  and  retired,  the 
clergyman  continued:  ''The  departed  one  desired 
that  a  favorite  song,  which  she  had  heard  under 
peculiar  circumstances,  be  sung  over  her  ere  she  be 
consigned  to  her  last  resting-place.  The  ancient 
friend  is  present  to  whom  she  owed  so  many  liours  of 
happiness  and  consolation,  through  his  musical  gift. 
He  has  consented  to  offer  that  song  to  us  accompanied 
by  a  chorus  of  children  most  of  whom  are  still  at  her 
period  of  hfe." 

The  old  singer  stood  forth,  and  held  up  his  instru- 
ment to  his  breast ;  his  look  of  benevolence  and  his 
reverential  attitude  produced  in  every  beholder  kin- 
dred emotions.  He  began,  in  a  clear  but  tremulous 
voice,  the  song ;  it  was  a  simple  thing,  but  he  sang 


426  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

his  heart  and  his  life  into  his  strain,  and   everybody 
could  feel  the  beat. 

The  Shepherd  came  into  the  city, 

And  wandered  up  and  down ; 
There  rang  in  his  ear  a  ditty 

Through  all  the  din  of  the  town. 

From  the  hill-tops  a  rainbow  is  bending, 

It  reaches  far  over  the  sea, 
And  a  song  I  hear  with  the  ending : 

0  Shepherd,  come  over  to  me. 

This  last  verse  the  chorus  of  children  took  up  and 
repeated  with  a  strong  outpour  of  fresh  youthful 
voices.  There  was,  indeed,  almost  a  playfulness  in 
their  tones ;  they  spoke  of  life,  not  of  death,  in  spite 
of  the  occasion  ;  they  seemed  unconsciously  a  prom- 
ise of  the  future.  Their  singing  made  a  strong  con- 
trast with  the  aged  voice  of  the  singer,  who  felt  that 
fresh  breath  of  youth,  and  stood  up  more  erect,  as  he 
started  a  new  verse :  — 

I  know  not  what  is  the  matter, 

That  song  rushes  into  my  head, 
Its  music  floats  over  the  clatter, 

But  she  who  once  sang  it  has  fled. 

I  see  my  old  flock  on  the  mountain,  f 

As  it  grazes  in  pasture  up  high, 
I  look  at  her  face  in  the  fountain, 

1  there  see  myself  too,  and  sigh . 

Still  the  rainbow  yonder  is  bending, 

It  reaches  far  over  the  sea, 
And  a  song  I  hear  with  the  ending : 

O  Shepherd,  come  over  to  me. 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        427 

When  the  chorus  had  repeated  this  last  verse  with 
even  greater  fullness  and  power  than  before,  yet  with 
the  same  child-like  joyousness,  the  clergyman  rose  and 
said:  "I  have  been  asked  to  give  some  glimpse  of 
the  hfe  of  this  young  soul,  but  I  have  little  or  nothing 
to  offer.  She  kept  to  herself  her  secret,  because, 
probably,  she  was  a  secret  to  herself.  If  I  were  to 
state  the  disease  of  which  she  died,  I  would  say  that 
this  3^outhf  ul  heart  was  burned  up  in  its  own  fires.  She 
had  felt  earthly  disappointment,  but  from  it  she  had 
drawn  its  divine  lesson  ;  through  it  she  had  risen  into 
a  feeling  of  celestial  charity.  But  the  shock  was  great, 
too  great  for  a  nature  so  delicately  attuned,  for  an 
imagination  so  warmly  colored.  In  her  last  days  she 
turned  with  a  strong  attachment  to  the  symbols  of 
religion,  from  which  she  derived  a  blessed  solace.  She 
clung  with  special  fondness  to  a  little  emblem  of  the 
crucifixion,  which,  as  she  supposed,  had  been  a  posses- 
sion of  her  unknown  parents,  and  an  object  of  their 
worship.  But,  in  her  intense  nature,  love  could  not 
survive  its  own  fever ;  in  spite  of  affectionate  care,  so 
lavishly  bestowed  by  her  foster  mother,  she  withered, 
as  it  were  in  her  own  sunlight,  and  at  last  had  to  be 
surrendered  to  the  destroyer. 

"  The  most  unusual  trait  of  her  character,  as  it  ap- 
pears to  me,  was  her  intimate  relation  to  the  Beyond,  to 
what  transcends  the  bounds  of  our  ordinary  life.  She 
had  a  strange  reach  out  of  this  finite  existence  which 
surrounded  her  and  sought  to  hold  her  in  ;  thus  she 
was  peculiar,  quite  inexplicable  to  us  who  so  con- 
tentedly dwell  in  our  own  little  horizon.  But  now  she 
has  gone  beyond,  with  her  own  fullest  consent,  I  am 


428  THE    FIIEEBURGKR8. 

convinced.  I  would  not  call  ber  back  to  these  bonds  of 
life  which  she  found  so  beaAy  while  she  wore  them." 
The  speaker  was  no  longer  able  to  utter  his  words 
freely  on  account  of  his  emotion  ;  he  gave  a  nod  to 
the  old  singer  that  the  song  should  proceed.  The 
latter  at  once  began :  — 

The  dwelling  is  empty  yonder, 
The  songstress  has  gone  far  away, 

And  I  in  the  world  have  to  wander, 
At  home  I  no  longer  can  stay. 

I  hark  on  my  path  by  the  hour, 

The  heart  of  the  hills  is  so  full, 
The  earth  brings  many  a  flower. 

But  none  I  stoop  over  to  pull. 

Still  above  me  the  rainbow  is  bending. 

It  reaches  far  over  the  sea, 
And  a  song  I  hear  with  the  ending: 

O  Shepherd,  come  over  to  me. 

The  old  man,  in  singing  for  others,  could  not  help 
singing  for  himself.  The  last  line  he  could  scarcely 
bring  to  an  end,  his  voice  broke  into  sobbing  frag- 
ments, and  his  song  ran  out  into  tears.  But  the 
chorus,  that  happy  outburst  of  youth  and  life,  caught 
up  the  verse  and  made  it  reverberate  with  soul-elevat- 
ing notes  of  joy  and  hope.  Some  of  the  audience  had 
already  learned  those  lines  which  had  been  repeated 
several  times,  new  voices  swelled  the  chorus  with  a 
heavy  accession  of  sound,  and  deep  bass  notes  were 
heard  mingling  among  the  lighter  tones  of  children 
and  giving  to  them  a  massive  foundation. 

The  old  singer  had  collected  himself,  his  voice  was 


THE    END    WHICH    IS    THE    BEGINNING.        429 

again  firm,  and  be  sang  in  a  more  quiet  manner  tlie 
concluding  verses :  — 

The  Shepherd  went  out  of  the  city, 

Still  waudering  up  and  down ; 
But  always  he  hears  the  same  ditty 

He  heard  in  the  din  of  the  town. 

That  ditty  has  always  the  ending : 

O  Shepherd,  come  over  to  me ; 
And  always  a  rainbow  is  bending 

That  reaches  far  over  the  sea. 

The  children  again  sang  the  final  stanza  in  chorus, 
and  all  the  audience  seemed  to  join  in  the  last  two 
lines,  being  transformed  for  the  time  into  the  spirit  of 
liope  and  aspiration.  The  clergyman  once  more  rose 
and  began  to  speak :  — 

"  It  is  a  divine  dispensation  that  the  young  at  times 
must  go  on  in  advance  of  the  old ;  the  children  are 
called  before  the  parents.  The  spring  wanes  at  its 
most  beautiful  moment,  the  flowers  wilt  at  their  high- 
est bloom ;  it  is  because  the  season  of  fruits  is  ap- 
proaching. Thus  I  have  thought  of  this  fair  being : 
she  has  had  her  wonderful  period  of  bloom,  has  passed 
it  and  now  enters  a  new  and  higher  development.  O 
friends,  decay  is  not  death  but  a  part  of  life.  Fair  be 
the  new  flowers  that  spring  over  her  tomb !  " 

The  time  had  come  for  consigning  to  the  elements 
what  was  left  of  little  Trolla.  All  cast  a  final  look 
upon  her  as  she  lav  in  her  white  festal  dress  and  golden 
hat  amid  the  banks  of  flowers.  Aunt  Polly  came  for- 
ward,  arranged  some  of  the  floral  surroundings  anew, 
and  then  smoothed  down  the  pale  brow  for  the  last 


430  THE    FREEBURGERS. 

time.  She  had  bravely  endured  her  trial,  but  at  this 
final  moment  the  sob  broke  out,  she  fell  upon  Trolla's 
face,  and  exclaimed:  "O  my  Trolla,  farewell!" 
Then  she  firmly  rose  and  gave  orders  that  the  lid  be 
closed. 

The  children  marched  out  in  front,  they  were  not 
wholly  able  to  restrain  their  little  gambols  and  prat- 
tlings  on  their  way  to  the  House  of  Silence.  Gentle 
hands  bore  the  lifeless  shape,  now  hidden,  to  rest  in 
the  bosom  of  the  primeval  mother.  How  desolate 
seemed  the  dwelling  after  Trolla  had  been  carried  out! 

Somebody  asked  after  the  old  singer.  But  he  had 
quietly  left  the  house  and  shunned  the  crowd,  he  was 
nowhere  visible.  Miss  Winslow  also  had  gone  her 
way,  and  was  not  seen  again.  Father  and  daughter 
had  vanished. 


VI. 


When  the  last  scene  has  been  played,  the  curtain 
ought  to  drop.  But  it  may  be  added,  by  wa}'^  of  epi- 
logue, that  the  world  goes  on,  though  the  stor}^  comes 
to  an  end.  The  reader  naturally  asks,  What  became 
of  these  persons  afterward?  They  undoubtedly  had 
their  history,  but  it  does  not  lie  in  the  scope  of  the 
present  narrative.  The  town  of  Freeburg  and  the  in- 
dividuals in  it  have  completed  a  cycle  of  existence, 
the  end  of  which  is,  however,  but  the  beginning  of  an- 
other cycle,  and  might  be  the  beginning  of  another 
novel. 

The  community,  after  these  experiences,  seemed 
for  a   time  to  sink  back  exhausted.     The  aspiration, 


THE   END   WHICH    IS   THE    BEGINNING.        431 

which  so  strongly  characterized  the  little  town,  had 
driven  it  up  against  the  very  bounds  of  its  existence, 
with  which  it  had  heavily  collided.  There  had  taken 
place  something  like  a  spiritual  explosion,  which  scat- 
tered its  strong  characters  toward  the  four  quarters 
of  the  globe.  To  be  sure,  these  characters  had  the 
explosive  material  in  them,  and  opportunity  simply  ap- 
plied the  match.  Freeburg  was  emptied  of  its  power- 
ful, limit-breaking  individuals,  by  a  banishment  from 
within  and  not  from  an  outer  power.  The  people  who 
remained  had  peace,  but  with  peace  came  a  time  of 
lethargy.  They  could  have  the  consolatory  privilege 
of  saying  that  the  great  cities  of  the  world  —  Athens, 
Florence,  Rome  —  had  known  a  similar  period,  which 
produced  mighty  characters  and  then  lost  them  —  a 
period  of  aspiration,  conflict,  decline. 

The  town,  in  the  unfolding  of  its  institutional  life, 
had  turned  an  epoch.  It  had  driven  Conscience  upon 
Law,  and,  as  we  have  seen,  had  forced  the  latter  into 
the  background.  Therewith  everything  fixed,  perman- 
ent, established,  in  every  domain  of  the  spirit's 
sovereignty,  began  to  shake  and  rattle.  In  time, 
however,  came  the  harsh  counter-stroke ;  the  Free- 
burgers  had  to  pass  through  the  bitter  experience  that 
to  Conscience  there  was  a  limit,  at  least  an  outer  limit, 
which  they  could  not  cross.  A  hand  of  gigantic 
strength  had  reached  into  their  midst,  and  had  seized 
CudjoBell;  he  had  not  been  rescued,  and  he  could 
not  now  be  rescued.  Law  celebrated  its  triumph  in 
Freeburg,  though  with  merely  an  external  authority. 
No  wonder  its  people  were  .dazed  at  the  blow,  and  fell 


432  THE    FKEEBURGERS. 

into  a  kind  of  sullen  apathy,  which  for  a  time  lets  the 
world  run  as  it  will. 

But  they  had  not  renounced  their  principle,  though 
for  the  moment  vanquished.  In  this  state  of  quies- 
cence they  were  gathering  new  volcanic  fire,  and  it 
soon  became  plain  that  the  conflict  had  not  been 
solved,  but  deepened. 


I'M 


2*j^'.- 


,  "m 


\      '  < 


1 1 


.|i.M'iT|p7rnin,; 


ii'^|iM'i'.rM|'iMV'ii' 


